Bury the Hatchet: Revised
by Silvver Phoenix
Summary: Prof. Hermione Granger is leading a perfectly content little life, having left her past behind her. However, someone shows up at Hogwarts who forces her to relive the past, remember old feelings, and...help him prevent a murder. Revised version!
1. Memories

**Disclaimer:** Now this is a story all about how,

My life got flipped turned upside down, 

And I'd like to take a minute just to say right now,

I do not own Harry Potter, no way, no how. ^_~

**Author's Notes: **We start with the crazy songs already. That one was from Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. Any kid who grew up in the 90's knows that song off by heart. Good times.

Welcome, friends, to Bury the Hatchet: Revised. It's like the special DVD version of Bury the Hatchet, if Bury the Hatchet was a movie and I was a rich producer and/or director. I re-wrote this version with the help of my incredible Sugar Quill beta-reader, Night Zephyr. With her amazingly amazing help, I put in some new details, fixed old mistakes, inserted some new scenes, put in some handy foreshadowing to Perfect World, and just generally made the fic more kick ass. I'm really happy with how it turned out, and although I'm going to lose some zany, sugar-induced author's notes by replacing the old Bury the Hatchet with this one, I'll still try to include the crazy ass review songs of old. ^_^

Important: For anyone reading this for the first time, please know that this fic was written before OotP. Therefore, some things may not make sense in an OotP universe. The spoilers for this fic were Goblet of Fire and previous. Also, note that this fic takes place seven years after Hermione, Ron, and Harry have graduated from Hogwarts.

That said, enjoy the re-written version. Insert statement begging everyone to review here

**Bury the Hatchet**

The echoing sound of clicking heels cut through a deathly silence as Professor Hermione Granger, Arithmancy teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, walked briskly through the dark, deserted halls. A waning moon shone through the castle windows, illuminating her face and chestnut hair, which was pulled into a tight bun. She turned a corner into yet another empty hall. Hermione was not surprised; the students would not arrive at Hogwarts until tomorrow, and the only member of the staff likely to be up at this ungodly hour was Argus Filch, the irritable caretaker, and his stealthy cat Mrs Norris. Professor Granger smiled ruefully - she knew that most students prayed that Mrs Norris kicked the bucket soon. The meddling feline had lived longer than anyone had expected, and continued to enjoy getting students in trouble just as much as her master, despite her rapidly declining health.

Hermione passed the portrait of a wizard with a high collar, who would have looked very important and dignified if it hadn't been for the fact that he was snoring loudly. She was nearly there. Turning one last corner, she entered into the trophy room.

Professor Granger walked slowly now to her destination - the place she had found herself coming to on many other sleepless nights, despite the fact that she desperately warned herself it was stupid. On this particular night, she had lain awake for hours before she found herself getting dressed and heading to the trophy room. Perhaps she couldn't sleep because of the high amount of stress the entire staff had been under for the past week. Getting Hogwarts ready for the hundreds of students that would be arriving by Hogwarts Express tomorrow was no easy feat. It didn't help matters much that the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, seemed to be aging more rapidly than ever. And while every last teacher respected him greatly and was rather fond of the old man, they had to admit that he _was_ getting old. Hermione sighed. She never thought she'd see the day when she thought of Albus Dumbledore as old.

Hermione finally stopped in front of a large trophy, sitting on a high shelf in its place of glory. She stared at its polished, shiny gold surface, her eyes slowly traveling down to the bottom of the trophy, where three names were engraved.

_Hermione Granger._ Yes, that was her. Or it _had_ been her. Professor Granger slowly ran her fingers over her own name. The Hermione Granger whom this trophy had been awarded to was quite a different person from the accomplished professor who stood before it now. It was true; in her own days at Hogwarts she _had_ been a bit of a know-it-all, a brilliant student. That part of her hadn't changed much.

But she'd also been the courageous Muggle-born who had braved a deadly series of challenges to find the Sorcerer's Stone in her first year at Hogwarts. She'd been the semi-mischievous youth who brewed a Polyjuice Potion secretly in the girl's toilets on a quest to find the Heir of Slytherin. She had been the fiery girl who'd slapped Draco Malfoy once in a fit of rage.

She had possessed a kind of courage that grown wizards and witches could not muster to help defeat the greatest Dark wizard of all time in her final year. Hermione closed her eyes and flinched as Voldemort's dying shriek echoed through her mind once again. But it wasn't the sound, or even the _image_ of the Dark Lord dying that, even now, frequently woke her in the middle of the night. It was rather the memory of the _smell_…the sickening, burning smell that had risen from Voldemort's still sizzling body once he had been killed. She would never forget that smell, as long as she lived.

Finally she opened her eyes, shaking ever so slightly. Professor Granger ran her fingers, almost lovingly, over the second name. _Ronald Weasley._ She sighed softly as she tried to fathom where Ron was now. She hadn't seen him since that memorable graduation…the week after…Hermione ran her fingers over the last name…the week after they and _Harry Potter_ had finally killed the Dark Lord, finally getting revenge for the untimely death of Harry's parents.

Hermione put a finger to her temple as seven-year-old memories came flooding back to her as if they had happened yesterday…soft, evil cackling echoing throughout the dungeons as Voldemort stepped out of the shadows…the Dark Lord, pointing his wand wildly at Harry and screaming the words that would kill him…Severus Snape, doing the last thing any of them had expected and flinging himself in front of Harry at the last second. The old potions master had sacrificed himself so that his old enemy's son wouldn't have had to die.

Snape's sacrifice had meant that Harry once again had power and protection against Voldemort…then all three of them had raised their wands…Hermione had blinked back tears, and said along with her two best friends in a shaking voice…

_"Avada Kedavra_," Professor Granger whispered out loud to the silent room. The three of them performing the fatal spell had done what one could not - killed the unkillable. Hermione's eyes traveled down the trophy, and she stared at the words engraved beneath her, Ron, and Harry's name.

_For Bravery Beyond Bravery,_

_And Destroying the Darkness That Plagued the World_

Hermione sighed again as she glanced at the trophy beside that. On it was engraved the name _Severus Snape_, with the same caption as the latter award.

Professor Granger leaned against the wall, closing her eyes again. Voldemort had been destroyed the week before she, Ron, and Harry graduated from Hogwarts. The day Hermione had been looking forward to since she had begun her first year was bittersweet. The three companions who had defeated Voldemort had basked in glory and admiration as they graduated, while the rest of the wizarding world rejoiced. News had spread fast that the Dark Lord had been destroyed by the Boy who Lived.

Hermione hadn't wanted glory. That night, she couldn't stop thinking that she had become a killer at the tender age of seventeen. Hermione had felt empty and emotionless during what should have been the greatest day of her life. The day she had planned to tell Ron what she felt…

Professor Granger shook her head and stood up straight, banishing the haunting memories from her mind and scolding herself for being so silly and sentimental. _It really isn't healthy for me to come down here at night and foolishly relive the past,_ she told herself sharply. Ron and Harry were gone - they had decided to study Defense Against the Dark Arts abroad so that they could become Aurors. After all, the fall of Lord Voldemort had not meant that all Dark wizards had fallen. True, they had been dealt a vicious blow by the downfall of their master, but there were those who would try to continue his Dark legacy.

Now both of her former best friends were famous Aurors. Professor Granger read about them frequently in the _Daily Prophet. They called them the dream team, the dynamic duo. _Dark Wizards beware of Potter and Weasley, the great Aurors_, Hermione thought bitterly._

She had not written to either of her friends since all three had left Hogwarts. She had decided to leave her past - and them - behind, and get on with her career. Within a year of graduation, Hermione had returned to the castle to teach - even though there were many painful memories haunting the stone corridors.

But that's all they were - memories. Professor Granger had left them behind. She was content now - she had her work, and an organized, sophisticated life. No nonsense about chasing Dark wizards around. No mischievous red-head and trouble-making, scar-bearing boy to distract her anymore. Let them run around the country hunting down dark wizards. She was perfectly happy where she was.

_What happened to you, Hermione Granger?_ said an annoying little voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Ron.

"I grew up," Professor Granger snapped sharply, her voice bouncing off the trophy room walls. Taking one last glance at the trophies, she spun on her heel and marched out of the room.

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	2. Unexpected Arrival

**Author's Notes:** Oh my God, I might be reduced to having to make…gasp!...author's notes that actually have relevance to the story! Why?!?!??!?!?!

I don't think I changed much in this chapter, save for a few subtle details and whatnot. Oh yes, and I learned that five o'clock should be written out, not written as 5:00. Good work, Night Zephyr.

***

It was pale, early sunlight spilling onto her face that woke Professor Granger up. She groaned as she began to slowly opened her eyes…hadn't she _just_ returned from the trophy room?  
  
Hermione gave a yelp as her vision cleared to reveal someone peering down at her. She blinked a few times before she realized who the blonde haired, blue eyed, spectacle-sporting man was.  
  
"Good morning, darling!" he exclaimed energetically, flashing his very straight, very white teeth. Hermione tried not to groan again as she glanced over at her clock. It was only five o'clock in the morning.  
  
"Charles…" Hermione mumbled as she sat up, rubbing her eyes. "First of all, what in the world are you doing here, and second of all, what in the world are you doing here at _five o'clock_ in the morning?"  
  
Beaming, he produced a tray from behind him and set it on her bed. "Why, I've brought you breakfast in bed, honeycakes!" he said brightly. It took all of Hermione's willpower not to cringe at the word honeycakes.  
  
She had been seeing Charles Griney, Head of the Department of Finance at the Ministry of Magic, for nearly a year now. In fact, it had been around this time, early September, that she'd met him a year before. When they had first met, Hermione had found Charles enthusiastic, kind, and sweet. Now…well, Hermione _still_ thought he was sweet, and very nice…but his occasionally overzealous attitude, corny nicknames, and excited chattering _slightly_ annoyed her.  
  
"Why, I'm here with the Minister for Magic, sweetheart," Charles explained as he carefully filled a goblet with orange juice. "He chose me to accompany him to the Sorting Feast…I think it's _marvelous_ that he's decided to attend such an important event at Hogwarts each year, it gets the children so excited…"  
  
The young teacher briefly tuned out as she sat up and began unenthusiastically munching on a piece of toast. She had never really felt very strong or powerful feelings for Charles. Not as strong as her feelings had been for…oh, for example, Ron Weasley…   
  
_That_, Hermione chided herself, _was a girlish infatuation. A stupid crush.   
  
_She glanced up at Charles, who was still talking, oblivious to the fact that she wasn't listening. Professor Granger smiled weakly up at him.  
  
_Anyways,_ she decided as her boyfriend chattered on, _what I have with Charles is much more_ _reasonable. He's dependable, he's reliable, he's…he's…  
  
_"_Still_ talking…" Hermione murmured, unaware of the fact that she'd said it out loud.  
  
" - and…what's that, pumpkin?" Charles asked, interrupting himself in the middle of a lengthy, tedious sentence.  
  
"I said I should really get dressed and ready now that I'm awake anyway," Hermione explained, smiling sweetly. "I'll see you later in the Great Hall," she insisted as she hopped out of bed and began leading him out the door.  
  
"Well, all right…see you later, snookums," Charles said, flashing his pearly white smile, then leaning forward for a kiss.   
  
Hermione leaned in quickly and gave him a peck on the cheek, then closed her door with a sigh.  
  


***

Professor Granger hurried into the Great Hall, where tiny Professor Flitwick and Professor Willows, who easily towered over her colleague, were setting up the long house tables. They floated them through the air with swishes of their wands.  
  
"When are the students due to arrive, Kathleen?" Hermione asked the tall, slender Herbology teacher.  
  
"Soon, I hope." Professor Willows replied, landing the Ravenclaw table with a bang. "I'm rather hungry."  
  
"Should be any minute now, Hermione," Professor Flitwick piped up, checking his over-large wristwatch.  
  
Hermione glanced around the Great Hall. A few other members of the staff were making last-minute preparations for the feast, while several of the Hogwarts ghosts floated above them, silvery and transparent. The bewitched ceiling was a deep blue colour; stars were just beginning to appear, winking down on the Great Hall.  
  
"…not a clue," Flitwick was saying to Professor Willows in his high-pitched voice. "It's a strange new character every year. And each seems to be crazier than the last!"  
  
Hermione smiled slightly as she realized what her former Charms teacher was talking about. True to the strange tradition that had begun in Hermione's first year at Hogwarts, there had been a different Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher every single year without fail. When Snape, to everyone's great surprise, _finally_ got the job in Hermione's seventh year, everyone was sure at least _he_ would last awhile. Hermione flinched every so slightly and forced herself to think about something else.  
  
"White and Ramone seemed to have started up a rumour at the end of last year that the new teacher was going to be a gnome," Willows was saying, unable to contain a smile. Flitwick burst into tiny giggles and Hermione snorted. Paul White and Roger Ramone were, without a doubt, the Fred and George Weasleys of the new generation of Hogwarts students.  
  
"Hopefully the students keep in mind that White and Ramone _also_ started the infamous rumour that Filch's cat is really an alien," Hermione said, rolling her eyes.  
  
"Ah, but that rumour _did_ have some truth in it, Professor Granger," said an amused voice behind her. Hermione turned around to see Albus Dumbledore leaning on his cane. "I myself have had doubts that Mrs. Norris is an ordinary cat. I'm positive her alien counterparts are scheming to beam her back up any day now," he said with a twinkle in his eye, hobbling up to the three of them. "Is everything set for the students?"  
  
"Headmaster," Hermione began, her tone considerably gentler. "Perhaps you should take a break…sit down for a bit…"  
  
"Nonsense!" Dumbledore insisted with a wave of his hand.  
  
"Your health, Headmaster," Hermione reminded him in a soft voice.  
  
"Not to worry, Hermione, I feel fit enough to wrestle a Hippogriff," Dumbledore assured her with a wink, then limped up to the Head Table.  
  
Professor Willows sighed. "The poor dear. His health has just been going downhill ever since…well, around this time last year."  
  
Chewing on her lip, Hermione didn't respond, just sadly watched Dumbledore's frail, retreating form. It seemed so…wrong. Dumbledore had always been omnipotent, unstoppable – his presence alone was reassuring to all of the teachers and students, just as it had been back when Hermione herself was a student. Even with the dark shadow of Voldemort looming over the school, Dumbledore had remained calm, had protected them.

But then again, Hermione reminded herself, when they had needed his protection most, Dumbledore hadn't been there. Not until she was crouched, sobbing, over Snape's lifeless body, while Harry proceeded to be violently sick on the dungeon floor. Dumbledore had turned out to be human just like the rest of them – he'd felt the constant fear and anxiety too, and had mourned for the lives lost as well. He'd even been completely powerless at some points, just as helpless as the rest of the wizarding world when it had come to some things.

Still, he remained the most powerful wizard of their time. And to finally see age catching up with the fiery old wizard was heartbreaking.  
  
"Professor Granger," a crisp voice said. Hermione jumped a little and spun around. Apart from the flecks of gray that were starting to appear in her chestnut-coloured bun, Minerva McGonagall looked exactly the same as Hermione remembered from when she was a student. But just now, McGonagall was standing right behind Hermione, looking furious.  
  
"What is it, Professor?" Hermione asked in alarm. She would never be able to call Professor McGonagall by her first name.   
  
"White and Ramone," McGonagall said through clenched teeth. "I need you to deal with them…I'm supposed to be greeting the first years. This way," she said as she walked briskly away. Professor Granger hurried after her, following the strict professor into the Entrance Hall.  
  
Paul White and Roger Ramone could have passed for brothers. Both had messy brown hair, wore their robes loosely and casually, and had a knack for getting into trouble. The only difference between them was that Paul was a bit shorter than his tall, gangly best friend. They were standing behind a group of burly seventh years, hoping to hide. However, Roger's untidy brown hair was just visible, sticking up from behind a Ravenclaw seventh-year student.   
  
"_So_," Professor Granger said as the seventh years quickly moved aside to reveal the pranksters. She and McGonagall gave the boys identical strict looks. Both mischief makers smiled innocently up at them.  
  
"Professor Granger, these two troublemakers decided it would be…" McGonagall rolled her eyes, "…_amusing_ to bewitch the Hogwarts carriages to take them to Hogsmeade instead of the castle."  
  
"We would _never_ do such a thing!" Roger insisted, sounding scandalized.  
  
"The carriages decided to take us to Hogsmeade all by themselves!" Paul said, his eyes wide. His innocent act was ruined by Roger's untimely snickering.  
  
"My office, boys," Hermione said sternly. The shoulders of both students slumped dejectedly as they followed her into her office.  
  
"Since the school year hasn't even started yet…" Hermione shot the two boys a glare as she sat herself at her desk. Paul and Roger seated themselves comfortably in the chairs opposite her. "I won't deduct points from Gryffindor."  
  
The boys grinned hopefully.  
  
"_Don't_ think you're getting off the hook," the strict witch continued wryly. "By pulling that little stunt you could have endangered Hogwarts property, the other students in the carriage, and yourselves. Detention for both of you tomorrow night. I know Professor Drago needs some help organizing potion ingredients in the dungeons…"  
  
At this both boys sat up, complaining loudly at the same time. Hermione sighed and held up her hands for silence.  
  
"One at a time," she said flatly. "What's the excuse today?"  
  
White and Ramone exchanged glances, then finally Paul spoke up. "Professor Granger…" he began dramatically. "You can't send us into those dungeons…alone…with _her_…"  
  
"And why not?" Hermione demanded crisply.  
  
Roger took a deep breath. "Professor Granger," he said, clutching his heart. "Drago…is trying to kill us both."  
  
Hermione couldn't help it; she barely managed to stifle laughter. Pressing her lips very tightly together, she managed to control the giggles that had suddenly threatened to escape. Taking her lack of a response as a good sign, the mischievous pair continued.  
  
"She's made _three_ separate attempts to take our lives thus far," Paul continued in a long-suffering voice. "I think it's just because we're Gryffindors…"  
  
Hermione couldn't help smiling dryly at that. The one thing Hermione liked about Diana Drago was the fact that she _didn't_ favour the students in her Slytherin over the others. The one thing she strove for was to be fair everyone. However, this one positive quality certainly didn't mean Hermione was Drago's biggest fan. Usually, the potion master's fairness policy just meant that no matter _what_ house you were in, she'd have a witty, sarcastic remark about your poor workmanship ready for you at any given time. But at least she wasn't _just_ torturing the Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws or Gryffindors. Slytherins got told off, too.  
  
"And _us_…well…if you send _us_ down to those dungeons…" Roger continued.  
  
"You'll never see us alive…_again_," Paul finished, sniffling dramatically.  
  
Hermione stared at them blankly, and then slowly shook her head. "So. The Potions Mistress is plotting to murder you? I must admit, it's one of your more _creative_ excuses. I give it an eight-point-five for imagination. Now, despite the fact that this was one of your best performances yet, you still have detention."  
  
The boys tried their best to look hurt.  
  
"Oh, get to the feast; we've probably already missed the Sorting," Hermione said with a sigh, standing up.  
  
"Ah well. We tried," Roger said brightly.  
  
"Yes, I s'pose. Brilliant acting, Roger, old boy. Truly, it _was, by far, your best performance," Paul said cheerfully.  
  
"Same to you, old chap!"  
  
Hermione couldn't stop the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth as she ushered them out the door. Professor Granger leaned against the door frame as she watched the pair run off to the Great Hall . Deep down she was rather fond of the two boys, despite their frequent run-ins with the Hogwarts law.  
  
"Hope you weren't too hard on the rascals, _Professor_," said a teasing, vaguely familiar voice to her right. Wrinkling her forehead, Hermione turned her head to see who it was.  
  
Leaning against the wall and grinning from ear to ear was a man, around her age, with flaming red hair and boyish blue eyes. He was rather tall and had the look of someone who had gone from being very skinny and gangly to very athletic. It took Hermione's astonished brain a few seconds to properly process what - or rather, who - she was seeing. When she finally realized who it was, she nearly had a heart attack. She stared, eyes wide, mouth slowly falling open, and involuntarily took a step backwards. When she finally found her voice, it was only a shocked, hoarse whisper.  
_  
"Ron?"__

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**Review song of old:**

_We've come a long long way together…_

_Through Chapter 1 and Chapter 2…_

_I'd like to…ask of all you readers…_

_Oh will you guys please, please revieeeeeeeeew?_


	3. Ronald Weasley, Auror Extraordinaire

**Author's Notes: It occurred to me that many of my chapters are horribly, horribly, short. Therefore, I combined two chapters to make…one super-chapter! Mwahaha.**

Now I seriously want to make a Bury the Hatchet DVD. I could totally get an audio commentary going too.

_Ron: Oh yeah, and this is the part where I crashed into a suit of armour._

_Hermione: We laughed and laughed…_

_Ron: What people don't realize is that the suits of armour are not very well-paid. They were quite cranky on the set. I, personally, believe that the thing tripped me, the stupid *bleeped out*, and I called him that to his face, too._

_Hermione: And then Eugene, the suit of armour, got all upset and wouldn't come out of his trailer._

***

Hermione's brain didn't seem to function properly for a few moments. All she knew was that her head was spinning from astonishment, and that her heart was pounding for some strange reason.

He looked different, yet very much the same – his hair was still the tousled, bright red mess she remembered, and his eyes still sparkled with mischief as a wild grin played on his lips. But gone was the seventeen-year-old boy Hermione had last seen; this was a fully grown man. There was also some maturity in the mischievous blue eyes, and all of the tall, gangly, awkwardness was gone from his posture.

Hermione stopped analyzing him and, for once, forgot to be the prim, cool, educated professor she was. She did the first thing that came to mind - threw her arms around Ron and gave him a bone-crushing hug.

"Where have you _been_?!" Hermione squealed, sounding like a sixteen-year-old girl.

"Hello to you, too!" Ron laughed, returning the hug enthusiastically. He held his old friend out at arm's length to have a good look at her, then whistled and shook his head. "Blimey it's good to see you, Hermione," he said hoarsely.

"Seven years!" Hermione said quite breathlessly, forgetting the fact that just the other night she'd been telling herself she was _glad_ she hadn't kept in contact with Harry or Ron. "You…you two ran off abroad to fight hags and vampires and…you could've been hurt, or…or dead for all I knew!" she said shrilly.

Ron smiled warmly. "Well, well, well. And here I thought you didn't give a damn about us any more since we never got a letter." He suddenly looked a little apprehensive, and his eyes dropped to the floor momentarily. "Er…why _didn't you ever write?" he inquired, looking back up at Hermione._

"I…my owls could never find you two," she lied quickly. Hermione suddenly felt horrible for not keeping in touch with her best friends. How could she not have? After all they'd been through, her, Ron, and Harry…

Something occurred to her quite abruptly. "And Harry? Where's Harry?" Hermione looked around wildly, half expecting to see her untidy-haired friend pop out from behind a suit of armour.

"Harry's fine; he's in Canada at the moment on a secretive and deadly mission," Ron said with a wink.

Hermione's eyes widened slightly and she looked a bit pale.

"I was _joking, Hermione," Ron explained wryly. "But he _is_ in Canada."_

"Oh…right…" Hermione nodded quickly, deciding not to ask what Harry was doing halfway across the world. She took a deep breath. The initial shock of seeing Ron was wearing off, and Hermione abruptly realized how silly she had been acting. Professor Granger took a moment to compose herself. Feeling embarrassed at her immature conduct, she hastily smoothed her hair, which had come out of its neat bun, and brushed off her robes.

"So," Hermione finally said politely, her heart slowing somewhat. "How long will you be staying here at Hogwarts? A week or two?"

"All year," Ron answered promptly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Hermione blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

Ron held out his arms and grinned broadly. "You're looking at the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher!"

Hermione stared at him incredulously, a sense of foreboding descending upon her. "You're _joking," she said slowly._

"Nope!" Ron replied happily. He suddenly clasped Hermione's hands, his eyes bright. "This is going to be brilliant! Ron and Hermione, together again at Hogwarts!"

Hermione quickly wrenched her hands away from his. "What do you mean, _together again?" she snapped, feeling panicked. Ron would ruin everything - her carefully planned, peaceful little life. Wherever he went, trouble and mischief always followed. Plus, there was always the issue of her old feelings…that could _not_ start again. She wouldn't allow it to. And yet, her heart was doing that annoying, undeniable flip-flop…_

Ron's face fell at her reaction. "Oh…well…I just meant…you know…friends again," he said, his voice sounding strained.

"Of course," Hermione agreed. She took a shaky breath then glanced towards the Great Hall. "Well," she said, a definite edge in her tone. "We should head to the feast."

"Oh," Ron looked disappointed. "Don't you want to, you know, catch up? I mean, for heaven's sake, I haven't seen you in seven – ruddy – years! Do you know what that's _like? I mean, of course you do, but…er, what I meant was…I mean, you were my best friend, Hermione, mine and Harry's. And I don't even - "_

"Oh, there'll be plenty of time for catching up and whatnot later, I'm sure," Hermione interrupted briskly. She spun on her heel and started marching away. She could see Ron standing very still out of her peripheral vision, looking lost and disappointed, and felt a tug at her heartstrings. A moment later, she heard his reluctant footsteps follow her into the Great Hall.

Whatever Hermione was feeling or thinking at that moment, it was soon forgotten as every head in the hall swiveled around to stare at the flustered-looking Arithmancy professor and the unfamiliar man with flaming red hair. The two strode up to the Head Table, every pair of eyes staring curiously.

Dumbledore was standing, no doubt already giving his beginning of the year speech. His eyes sparkled as Ron and Hermione took a seat. "Well. Now that _everyone has arrived…"_

All the students looked down at their plates expectantly.

"…I can introduce the newest member of our staff!" Dumbledore continued pleasantly. There was an audible groan from the ravenous students. "May I introduce Professor Weasley, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!"

The groans immediately disappeared as the student body erupted into murmurs and whispers, which soon got louder and louder until the entire Hall was chattering away excitedly.

"Did he say _Weasley?"_

"I read about him in the Daily Prophet!"

"The Auror guy, right?"

"No, I think he's one of the ones that plays Quidditch for England…"

"Don't be stupid, it's the Auror. Fred 'n George Weasley are supposed to be playing tonight in Italy, why would one of them be _here_?"

"Is Harry Potter with you?" Paul White yelled to Ron over the din. Nearly everyone laughed.

Ron was grinning from ear to ear, his disappointment at Hermione's attitude evidently forgotten as he enjoyed the attention. Hermione rolled her eyes at him and glanced down the Head Table to see Charles and the Minister for Magic sitting side by side. Charles spotted Hermione and waved energetically, then blew her a kiss. Hermione smiled weakly and prayed that none of the students or Ron had seen that.

Dumbledore held up his hands for silence, still smiling. "I trust you'll all make your new professor feel welcome. Now, I advise you all to tuck in," he said, holding out his arms. Food appeared on every last plate, and the entire student body dug in with relish.

The headmaster gratefully sunk back into his chair, a momentary expression of weariness flashing over his face. Professor Granger stared at him anxiously, but the moment quickly passed, and soon Dumbledore was eating quite contentedly.

"Dumbledore, Dumbledore…" Ron murmured quietly beside her. Hermione whipped her head around and stared at him, eyebrows raised. Ron wasn't grinning anymore.

"What?" Hermione asked, searching his face.

Ron smiled brightly. "Nothing," he replied, then quickly speared a potato and started shoveling food in his mouth. Rolling her eyes again at Ron's horrible table manners, Hermione began eating daintily. She had been wrong; he hadn't changed at all.

Still, Hermione found herself unconsciously glancing at Ron every now and then all through dinner. She still couldn't believe he, of all people, would be teaching alongside her at Hogwarts all year.

_This is going to be a difficult, dreadful  year, Hermione thought darkly._

***

For the first time since she had become a teacher, Professor Hermione Granger was a mess.

On the first day of school, her fourth-year students arrived to find a pale-faced, disheveled, irritable witch slumped in a chair at her desk in the Arithmancy classroom.

"Good lord, what in the devil happened to _her_?" someone whispered loudly as the class took their seats. A few giggles escaped some students.

"Ten points from Hufflepuff, Mr. McKenzie," Hermione snapped. "And a further five points for giggling in class," she said, scowling at her students. The fourth-years slowly sunk lower into their seats to avoid her burning glare.

"Open your textbooks," Hermione began, writing furiously on the board. "To page three hundred and sixty-two…"

"Three hundred and sixty-two!" a red-haired girl burst out. "But that's at the very back of the textbook! It's the first day of class!"

"_Another_ fifteen points from Hufflepuff!" Hermione shouted shrilly, slamming her chalk down with a bang. Several students jumped.

Professor Granger glanced around at her frightened-looking students, then let out her breath slowly, ran a hand through her tousled hair, and sat down at her desk. "I apologize," she said in a clipped voice. "Summarize pages five to eight in your textbooks and answer the questions at the end of the chapter instead."

The class fell into an uneasy silence after that; the only sound that could be heard in the large, open classroom was the scratching of quills on parchment. The familiar sound was almost comforting to Hermione as she stared into space, thinking. She felt angry, confused, and scared, all due to a the presence at the castle of one single person: Ron.

Hermione supposed she was angry at no one other than herself, and confused as well about the way she had behaved yesterday - like a silly little schoolgirl. She was an adult now, with a normal, organized, stable adult life. Ron's presence at the school threatened to destroy what she'd been working towards ever since graduating from Hogwarts - to forget her graduation from Hogwarts, and to be a normal adult with a normal adult life.

It was quite a different thing _teaching_ at the school where she had become a murderer and a celebrity in the same night. Yes, sometimes when she passed the dungeons she felt nauseous and weak, and occasionally when she passed Moaning Myrtle's bathroom she felt a pang of sadness. But those were only places where memories had occurred. Places and memories couldn't hurt her. Hermione could bury memories, forget them, toss them aside and never think about them again.

But Ron was a real, living, breathing memory. She couldn't toss him aside and forget him any more than she could teach Divination. Especially now that she would see him every single day for the rest of the year…

"Professor?" a timid voice said, snapping Hermione out of her stupor. With a jolt she sat upright and stared at the short, curly-haired girl standing in front of her desk. "I was wondering…if…er…"

She glanced back at the rest of the class, who looked impressed with her bravery at approaching the ill-tempered professor. A few kids gave her a thumbs-up sign. "Could you help me with this question?" the girl squeaked out, and then took a quick step backwards, as if she was expecting Professor Granger to explode.

Hermione sighed and mentally kicked herself. She couldn't let Ron's presence at Hogwarts faze her. In fact, she was sure she could avoid Ron most of the time. Feeling a little better, she smiled weakly at the curly-haired student.

"Of course, Miss Longley," Professor Granger replied with false cheerfulness. The students seemed to take heart at her sudden positive change of attitude, and the rest of the class passed quite pleasantly, as did the class after that.

***

Hermione soon discovered that avoiding Ron would be much more difficult than she had imagined. The teachers ate lunch in the Great Hall along with the students, and it was rather hard to elude someone when you were to be dining right next to them. At noon, a hungry Professor Granger took one step into the Great Hall and promptly froze.

Ron was sitting atop the Gryffindor table, talking animatedly with a huge grin on his face. Students were gathered around him, listening eagerly as Ron recounted some apparently thrilling tale, making huge gestures every now and then.

"Then BLAM!" Ron yelled, smacking his fist into his hand. "I was thrown nearly ten feet into the air, and my wand went _flying_! And it lands…get ready for this…in quicksand!"

The students' eyes widened as they leaned forward in excited anticipation.

"So here I was," Ron continued, obviously enjoying himself greatly. "Crumpled on the ground after being tossed into the air like a bloody rag doll, and my wand was slowly sinking into quicksand."

"What'd you _do?" an over-eager first year squealed._

"The only thing I could do," Ron said solemnly. "I wrestled the brute with my _bare hands_."

A shocked gasp rose from his adoring audience. Hermione rolled her eyes in disgust, and marched out of the Great Hall.

Professor Granger walked aimlessly through the empty halls. Right now, students and teachers alike were at lunch, eating delicious, filling food, and drinking thick, tasty pumpkin juice…

Hermione's stomach rumbled unceremoniously. With a sigh, she realized she couldn't very well just stop eating in order to avoid Ron. Feeling defeated by her own human need to eat, she turned around and slowly started trudging back towards the Great Hall.

She stopped in her tracks as a thought occurred to her. She hadn't been down there in ages…she wasn't even sure if she remembered what to do…but it was worth a shot. _Anything_ was better than story-time with Ronald Weasley, Auror extraordinaire.

Hermione hurried down a winding staircase, her stomach grumbling. She turned a corner, and started walking down a narrow corridor, searching for a painting of fruit…

"Gah!" she shrieked as someone crashed into her, their arms laden with food. Several chocolate truffles and a cheesecake flew upwards into the air.

"_Frizarius_!" Professor Granger quickly said, pointing her wand at the airborne desserts. They froze in midair, to the relief of the would-be victims below them. With a wave of her wand, Hermione placed the goodies back into the arms of their original owner…

"Charles?" Hermione said blankly as she finally took a good look at the man who had bumped into her. Her blonde boyfriend was looking slightly pale and was mopping his brow with a handkerchief. "What are you doing here?"

"Why…I came to see you, pumpkin," Charles flashed his perfect smile and laughed good-naturedly, tucking his handkerchief away. "You gave me a fright for a moment there!"

"Sorry," Hermione apologized, glancing at the painting of a bowl of fruit behind him. A doorknob was slowly turning back into a pear. She furrowed her eyebrows, glancing from the painting to Charles and back. "How did you…?"

"Well, I was a boy at Hogwarts once myself, gingersnaps!" Charles chuckled. "Don't think I didn't get into any mischief while I was here! Oh, no, I was quite the trouble-maker…"

Hermione vaguely remembered Charles Griney at Hogwarts. He'd been a good five years ahead of her, but she recalled him being a Prefect and then Head Boy. She almost laughed trying to picture him getting into mischief'.

Instead Hermione just smiled secretly to herself. She grabbed a few truffles from Charles and popped them into her mouth as he rambled on about his trouble-making days at Hogwarts.

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Super-chapter awaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay! *Super-chapter goes off to fight the forces of evil and such*

I had to put something random at the end of the chapter, didn't I?

…Review!


	4. Confrontation

**Author's Notes:** I love Paul and Roger. If anyone in this fic is a blatant self-insert, it's them. Even though I am most definitely _not_ two fourteen-year-old boys. But my spirit is alive in them. I loved giving my teachers hell. Now I'm scared to because if I tried to give my profs hell they'd either fail me or be like, "Who the hell are you?" And then I'd have to give them my student number and that's just a pain in the ass.

***

"Bloody _hell!" Paul White swore loudly as he staggered into Professor Granger's classroom, arms laden with books. His fellow students sniggered loudly as he took his seat._

"You're late, Mr. White," Hermione said, not looking up from a test that she was marking. With her red pen – her preferred choice of marking tool – she circled an error and immediately scratched a large, red 'X' into the parchment, next to the incorrect answer.

"I know, Professor, I know," Paul said in a long-suffering voice. He sniffed loudly and put his fingers to his temples. "You see…my memory…it's just not what it used to be…"

Hermione sighed as she glanced up from the test, now covered in more red markings. "Oh come on, Mr. White. That wasn't even a half-decent attempt."

Paul slumped in his chair, looking dejected. "I know. I'm feelin' a bit off today."

"Where were you?"

"In the kitchens with Roger. So shall I come for detention tonight or tomorrow?"

Hermione rifled through her perfectly organized date book, which had been sitting on the corner of her desk in it's place of glory. "Tonight's good for me."

"Alrighty," Paul said as he grabbed his quill, dipped it into some ink with flourish, and jotted down a quick note to remember detention on the back of his hand. "Oh, I bumped into that blonde friend of yours," Paul added casually, with the air of someone making small talk with an old friend.

Hermione frowned. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, you know. Blonde fellow, about yea high," Paul lazily raised his hand to indicate the height of the person. "Glasses, talks a lot, follows you around like a love-sick puppy - "

"That's quite enough, Mr. White," Hermione interrupted quickly, dimly aware of warmth spreading to her cheeks. She certainly didn't need an in-depth description of Charles from Paul White, especially in front of her entire fourth-year class. Plus, she was already all too well aware of his slightly irritating traits. The fact that his visits to the castle had become much more frequent lately didn't help.

"Alright, alright, everyone settle down," Hermione said loudly over the dull roar that had arisen in her classroom while she was lost in her own little world. "Everyone turn to page thirty-four in your textbooks…"

***

Professor Granger's shoes clicked and clacked on the ancient marbled floor, echoing around the empty hall. The only sounds to be heard in the corridor were her fast and punctual footsteps and the rhythmic beating of her heart. A black briefcase was in her hand, containing several papers, belonging to her sixth-year class, which needed to be read and marked. Hermione stopped in front of the staff room door.

"_Peppermint twist_," she said clearly. The staff room provided a quiet sanctuary for teachers who had work to do in between classes or during lunch or dinner. It was not as lovely as the staff common room, which was spacious and richly furnished, and it did not have the privacy of one's office, but there was always hot coffee, tea, and other deliciously warm beverages available within. Feeling comforted already by the aroma of hot coffee, Hermione took a step forward as the door swung open, allowing her in.

  
"_There_ you are!" an all-too familiar voice called. Hermione glanced around to see Ron drinking a steaming mug of Butterbeer at the long staff room table. She swiftly turned around, but the door had already swung shut behind her. She was trapped. Coffee forgotten, Hermione stood there, rigid.

"Where in the blazes have you been, Hermione?" Ron asked, patting the seat next to him at the table. After a brief pause, Hermione walked over and stiffly sat down in it, clutching her briefcase to her.

"What do you mean?" she asked coldly.

"Well…" Ron began hesitantly. "You're not at lunch or supper in the Great Hall. I almost never see you in the corridors. And if I ask anyone they tell me to try looking in your classroom or your office, but you're never there…" Ron trailed off, his cheerful attitude having disappeared unexpectantly. "Are you…er…okay?"

"I'm well, thank you," Hermione replied icily, beginning to get up. Ron rose as well, puzzled, on the edge of suspicion. "I just have quite a lot of work to do. Now if you'll excuse me…"

"_Wait _just a moment," Ron said, pushing on her shoulder and forcing her to sit back down. Hermione gave in and sat down, folding her arms and nearly scowling. Ron hesitated before he said anything, looking pensive and increasingly suspicious.

"…Either I'm imagining things," he finally said slowly, "or you're avoiding me."

_Oh, well spotted, _Hermione thought sarcastically. Out loud, she said, "Oh don't be stupid," in a very irritated voice. "I'm very busy, that's all."

Ron's eyes, screwed up thoughtfully, searched Hermione's face. Hermione fought the urge to squirm under his critical gaze.

"I knew you'd be different," Ron said suddenly, "when I decided to come here, that is. I knew you would've changed a bit since I saw you last. We all do. I mean, it has been seven years. But..." He paused. "You're like a whole different person, Hermione," Ron finished almost sadly. His sad tone stabbed her heart like a knife. Unflinching, Hermione pulled out the metaphorical blade and tossed it aside.

"Well of course I am," Professor Granger replied irritably. "I only knew you for seven years, after all, at Hogwarts. I've grown _up_, Ron." After a brief pause, she added quite nastily, "Why haven't you?"

Ron looked taken aback. After staring at his old friend, mouth slightly open, for what seemed like hours, he began shaking his head slowly. "Growing up…growing up doesn't mean you have to become this…this stiff, prim, proper," his voice began getting louder, and consequently, harsher, "irritable, McGonagall wannabe!"

Professor Granger gaped at him, eyes blazing angrily. "Well at least I didn't run off chasing vampires and warlocks!" she shot back loudly.

"Well I didn't see you trying to stop me and Harry from leaving!" Ron yelled. "In fact, if I think about it now, you were almost _happy_ to see us go!"

"I was!" Hermione burst out. "I was! I was happy that you two were leaving and taking all your mischief and trouble and Dark wizards with you!"

The conversation had quickly become a shouting match. Both professors had leaped out of their chairs by this point, their faces scarlet from bellowing. Hermione should have known it would come down to this, simply from experience. Ron had always had a quick temper, and she was offended far too easily. The number of rows those two traits of theirs had caused during their Hogwarts days were countless.

"Oh, so that's what it was!" Ron shouted hoarsely. "That's why you didn't write, or try to keep in touch, or anything!"

"I tried to _politely_ keep my distance from you two accident-prone, trouble-making, danger-seeking idiots, but then _you_ had to show up at Hogwarts and ruin everything!" Hermione shrieked.

But before Ron could holler a comeback, a polite rapping on the staff room door was heard. The two old school-friends slowly turned to stare at the door.

"Sweetums?" came a muffled voice. "Are you in there?"

Hermione groaned. Charles' timing couldn't have been more horrible. Ron glanced from the door to Hermione, one eyebrow raised. He slowly crossed over to the door and opened it.

"Can I help you?" Ron asked of the blonde, eager-looking man standing outside.

"Ah yes, I'm looking for…" Charles' face suddenly lightened up as he spotted Hermione. "Cupcake! There you are!"

Hermione searched frantically for a hole that would be willing to swallow her up. No such luck.

Ron glared at Charles behind his back, realization slowly dawning on him. Eyes narrowed, he cleared his throat loudly. "Aren't you going to introduce us, Professor Granger?"

Hermione shot him a look that could kill, but reluctantly obeyed. "Charles, this is Professor Ronald Weasley," she said flatly. "Ron, this is my…" She stopped and hesitated. "…My friend, Charles Griney."

"I see," Ron answered shortly, eyebrows raised.

Taking a step forward, Charles held out his hand to him, beaming. Ron gave him a look that would frighten a Hippogriff, which caused Charles to smile weakly and quickly withdraw his hand.

"What are you doing here, Charles?" Hermione asked in the politest tone possible, though her voice was strained.

"Oh, Ministry business," Charles said dismissively. "The school's budget, you know…I have a meeting with Dumbledore later this afternoon, but I was thinking…"

"Er…I was sort of in the middle of something with Professor Weasley. Can we talk later?" Hermione said under her breath to her boyfriend.

Charles' face clouded for a moment, but the look was soon replaced by one of his sparkling smiles. "Of course, sugarfoot…"

Ron snorted.

Glancing backwards at Ron with a slight frown, Charles continued. "Shall I meet you near the lake later on? We can go for a lovely stroll on the grounds…."

"All right," Hermione replied wearily. "Goodbye, Charles," she said, nonchalantly ushering him towards the door.

Charles paused at the door and turned around, leaning forward expectantly. Hermione froze, feeling Ron's eyes on her back. She glanced back at him, then at Charles, who was still leaning forward.

"Sweetums! Don't I get a - " Charles begun in patronizing sort of voice.

"Oh, yes." Hermione replied quickly. Charles leaned forward again, smiling. Hermione grasped his hand and shook it. "There you are!" she said with fake cheerfulness, giving him a push through the doorframe, and then rapidly shutting the door behind him.

"Well," was all Ron said. It was obvious he was trying his best to make himself still look angry, despite the amused look in his eyes.

Hermione jutted out her chin determinedly and folded her arms. "Go on," she said haughtily. "Say it."

"I wasn't going to say anything…" Ron insisted innocently.

"Fine. Then leave. I have nothing more to say to _you, _either."

"I believe _I_ was here first."

"No, I believe _I was here first. You're the one who showed up at this castle out of the blue to make my life difficult," Hermione retorted._

Ron's face turned red again, his still boyish freckles standing out. He didn't seem to have a comeback for that. Wordlessly, he pushed past her and left the staff room, muttering under his breath and clenching his fists. Hermione watched him leave, and then collapsed into a chair, resting her head on her palms.

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**Review threat of old:** Review or else the half-monkey half-llama type creature lurking in the shadows of my basement shall get thee! *Looks around nervously* He could be in this very room…


	5. Petrified

**Author's Notes: I checked, and when I first wrote this chapter, it was during the Olympics and I threatened people to go down to Salt Lake City and cheer on the Canadian Olympic Hockey team because if they didn't win I was going to boycott and stop writing.**

They won. ^_^

***

In an orange and black whirlwind, Halloween excitement was taking hold of the school. In the wizarding world and especially at Hogwarts, the holiday was much more than an excuse to get candy from strangers. The entire spirit of Halloween was centered around witches and wizards, warlocks and ghouls, vampires and hags - all fictional characters in the Muggle world, but very real creatures in the wizarding world.

Paul White and Roger Ramone were up to something, as usual. The teachers deduced that they were gathering food from the kitchens for some crazy, after-curfew Gryffindor Halloween party, but the teachers didn't have any solid evidence to prove the theory yet. White and Ramone had done a brilliant job of hiding the evidence - not a single crumb of a missing cake was found in their dorm, and nearly three dozen assorted pastries had disappeared without a trace.

With Halloween also came a trip to Hogsmeade. It had been a few days since the staff room argument, and Hermione had only seen Ron once since the infamous row. By chance, they had met in the hallway. Ron had given her a wordless glare, then spun around and stalked off down the corridor in the opposite direction in a huff. Now it seemed that he was the one avoiding _her_, Hermione thought wryly as she stood next to Professor McGonagall in the crowded Hogsmeade main street. Students ran this way and that, Halloween treats from the sweet shop clutched greedily in their fists.

"Keep your eye on Ramone. He's up to something," McGonagall said with a steely glare, keenly watching Roger slip and slide down the icy street. He met his partner in crime, Paul, and the two began talking in hushed voices.

"Professor Granger, Professor McGonagall!" a cheery voice behind the two figures hollered. Hermione whirled around in surprise. There stood Ron, a lopsided grin plastered on his face. The tips of his ears were beginning to turn pink from the cool, crisp October air, and in his hands he held three steaming mugs of Butterbeer.

"Hello, Professor Weasley," McGonagall replied courteously. "Are you supervising today as well?"

Hermione, meanwhile, was completely taken aback by Ron's sudden friendly attitude. She him a strained smile for Professor McGonagall's sake as he handed a Butterbeer to both the women.

"Why, thank you, Mr. - " McGonagall quickly corrected herself, " - _Professor Weasley."_

"There's no need for formalities, _Minerva_," Ron replied with a cheeky grin. "Just Ron's fine."

McGonagall responded with a tight-lipped smile, which obviously indicated that she didn't want Ron calling her "Minerva" any more than she wanted Slytherin to win the Quidditch cup.

"How about we get out of this cold and into the Three Broomsticks?" Ron suggested.

"No thank you, Professor. I really need to keep an eye on the students out here," McGonagall replied, stealthily eyeing Roger Ramone.

"Hermione?" Ron asked, looking to his old friend with a bright smile.

Extremely puzzled by Ron's sudden change of disposition, Hermione reluctantly accepted. This was partly because she _was_ freezing, and partly because she was curious as to what caused his mood to change so drastically since that cold meeting of theirs in the corridor. Nodding with a smile to Professor McGonagall, Hermione followed Ron into the Three Broomsticks.

"All right, out with it," Hermione said bluntly as they sat down at a table. "What's with the sudden change of heart?"

"I haven't the faintest clue what you're talking about," Ron replied innocently, fixing a puzzled look on his face. It didn't last, however, because it abruptly broke into a grin.

"Well?" Hermione said impatiently.

"I decided that fighting with you never solved any problems in the past, so it sure as hell won't solve any now," Ron explained in a sophisticated manner. Hermione couldn't help thinking that it didn't suit him. "So I propose a truce."

"And what are the terms of this tentative truce?" Hermione demanded suspiciously.

"I won't bother you and _Charles_," Ron tried to keep a straight face, "or complain any more about you changing and whatnot."

"And…?"

"And you have to promise never to call me and/or Harry…" Ron paused, screwing up his face and doing an annoyingly perfect impression of Hermione, "…'accident-prone, trouble-making, danger-seeking idiots' again."

Hermione stared down at her Butterbeer. She had two choices - she could accept Ron's truce and just learn to work beside him (it didn't mean they had to be best of friends), or once again refuse to have anything to do with him. She glanced up at Ron's eager, boyish face and felt a strange pull at her heartstrings. She quickly dismissed it as the Butterbeer, although a nagging voice in the back of her head reminded her that the stuff wasn't very strong.

"Fine," Hermione stated. She then paused. "…And I didn't totally mean the part about you two being danger-seeking idiots. Some of it you didn't go looking for."

Ron beamed. "Great! So…friends?"

But before Hermione could answer, a blessing in disguise - Roger Ramone - came barreling into the Three Broomsticks. He rather ungracefully bumped into Hermione's chair and nearly knocked her over. Hermione yelped, jolting forward and losing her grip on her Butterbeer. She watched, wincing, as it spilled all over the table. Ron, surprisingly agile and quick, leaped out of his seat as the warm liquid spilled over the table and dripped onto his now empty chair.

"Ack! Sorry, Professor!" Roger apologized excitedly, absently trying to straighten the chair with Hermione still in it. Paul White appeared in the doorway and doubled over laughing at the sight. Roger forgot the chair, grabbed at Paul's coat, and dragged him into the pub. They sat at the table adjacent to Hermione and Ron's and began chattering away in hushed voices.

Hermione stared at the mess at their table, turning a lovely shade of red as she quickly swooped down and tried to mop up the mess at their table with some napkins. Madam Rosmerta hurried over to help.

Hermione gestured uselessly, embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Rosmerta, it just slipped…" She was sure to glare at Roger over her shoulder when she said this, however.

"No need to worry, honey!" Rosmerta replied cheerfully, a smile on her rosy face. "Come on, you two can sit right over here…" She brought them over to a new table and waited for them to sit down before promptly bringing over two new Butterbeers.

"On the house," she said warmly, setting the steaming mugs down. Hermione didn't touch hers; instead she just sat there, seething.

"_Really, those two," she said through clenched teeth. "Trouble makers, the both of them. I wouldn't be surprised if they have to repeat this year. They're such brilliant boys, really…if they only applied half the intelligence they waste on plotting stupid schemes to their school work - "_

"No, I am _not seeing things!" Roger yelled loudly, pounding his fist on the table for effect. Many heads swiveled to stare at him. Roger smiled sheepishly._

"Reminds me of Fred, that one does," Ron said, sniffling. He seemed rather unruffled by the entire ordeal, despite the fact that he'd just nearly ended up with a lap full of Butterbeer. "Oh, the memories…"

"Oh, the memories indeed," Hermione scoffed. "I can't hear myself think with these two in here. I'm going outside," she announced, rising from the table. Much to Hermione's chagrin, Ron hurriedly stood up as well and followed her out of the Three Broomsticks.

The two trudged along the icy street in momentary silence, the crisp October wind whistling by their ears. Pumpkins that wore gruesome expressions which magically changed as you walked by lined the windows of shops and stores.

"…Don't you ever miss it?" Ron suddenly asked, a note of wistfulness in his voice.

Hermione sighed. Obviously he hadn't taken the hint that their temporary truce did not mean instant camaraderie. "What _are_ you blabbering on about? Miss what?"

"Hogwarts!" Ron exclaimed, as if it were obvious.

Hermione stared at him blankly. "…We _work_ there, Ron."

"No, I mean _our Hogwarts. All of our little adventures and schemes and things…"_

"Oh yes, all those good-natured, crazy adventures," Hermione snapped back sarcastically. "Like the one in which we had to watch our Potions teacher be brutally murdered, then kill the most terrible wizard of all time."

"Hey," Ron said seriously. "Truce, remember? Back off the sarcasm a bit. And no, I wasn't talking about _that_. I know how…" he searched for a word, "er…how…hard that was…er…on you."

Behind them, Paul and Roger dashed out of the Three Broomsticks, nudging each other as they ran off, whispering. They rounded a corner and disappeared out of sight.

"Well of course it was hard on me!" Hermione replied shrilly, beginning to walk faster. Ron had to put on a quick burst of speed to catch up and remain at Hermione's pace. "I was seventeen, Ron! We…I…and then you wonder why I wanted to avoid you and Harry! I just…I just didn't want something like _that to happen again!"_

"Whoa, whoa…take it easy, Hermione. He's gone now…"

"Oh, is he?!" Hermione shrieked. The calm, collected professor had suddenly lost all control. "That's what they thought the first time! And he came back!"

"He's _not coming back," Ron said firmly._

"How do _you_ know?!"

"Look, Hermione, I went through the same thing you are now," Ron explained. "I'd wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat and all, wondering if he was really still alive, just…out there. Biding his time and waiting like before. But listen," he put a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "He's gone. And you have to move on with your life, you know?"

"I _had moved on," Hermione snapped shrugging his hand off her shoulder. "Then you came, and - "_

"Don't start that again," Ron said, his tone slightly angry. He took a deep breath and composed himself. "Truce, remember? And me coming here didn't cause _anything. I'll tell you what happened."_

"Ah yes, Dr. Ron Weasley, the psychiatrist," Hermione muttered sarcastically.

Ron ignored her and carried on. "You took everything that happened that night, and you did the exact _opposite of moving on - you bottled it up deep inside and whatnot, then pretended nothing had ever happened. You just have to face the facts of what happened that night and try to get over it."_

Hermione laughed bitterly, starting to walk again. "Get over it," she repeated scornfully. "Right."

"Hey, it's tough," Ron answered, sticking his hands in his pockets. "But you shouldn't be afraid of something that happened seven years ago any more."

The two walked on quietly for a bit. Ron absently started kicking stones up the street as he shuffled along.

"Don't you ever have nightmares about it?" Hermione abruptly asked in a much softer voice.

There was a long silence. "…All the time," he finally answered.

Feeling slightly comforted, and yet regretting that quick moment of vulnerability she'd shown to Ron at the same time, Hermione folded her arms against the wind and continued on through the slick streets in silence.

"Why _did you decide to come teach Hogwarts all of a sudden?" Hermione abruptly asked, genuinely curious._

"Oh, several reasons," Ron replied airily. Hermione glanced over at him suspiciously, but was rewarded only with a blank, innocent look from Ron. However, that bemused expression was all too familiar to Hermione, and it spoke volumes – Ron wasn't telling her something. And whatever it was, it was most likely _not news she wanted to hear._

"Oh no," she groaned. "What? What is it?" Hermione demanded.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Out with it, Ron. You're hiding some – "

With a shriek of surprise, Hermione fell forward, having tripped over something. Ron's excellent reflexes, no doubt from years of Auror training, allowed him to sprint forward and grab a handful of her cloak. He yanked her backwards and onto her feet again.

Both of them stared, horror-struck, at the object Hermione had tripped over.

There on the ground lay a rigid, unmoving Paul White. His glassy eyes were staring straight up at the sky, and yet it seemed as if they saw nothing of its frigid October beauty. Hermione inhaled shakily a few times, then knelt down and felt his pulse.

"He's alive," she said in a strangled voice, turning back to glance at Ron. But he was already off, obviously looking for Roger. Hermione turned back to Paul, chewing her bottom lip rapidly and brushing his hair out of his face.

"Found the other one," Ron's voice said gravely. A few moments later he appeared, gently floating Roger along in midair with his wand. It looked like a rather awkward position, however, since Roger was stiff as a board.

Hermione glanced from one unfortunate student to the other, and then her eyes locked with Ron's.

"Petrified," they said in unison.

"But why?" Hermione said in a nearly panicked-sounding whisper.

"In the pub…" Ron murmured to himself. "Unlucky blokes knew something…"

"Knew something?" Hermione asked slowly, rising from her knees. "What are - "

"Not seeing things…" Ron muttered, repeating Roger's words to himself. "But what…argh. Dammit. Didn't think it was that serious…thought he was just paranoid…"

"Ron," Hermione said as calmly as she could, though her voice was shaking. "I'm going to ask you again…why did you come to Hogwarts?"

Ron looked from the two immovable boys to Hermione and sighed, running a hand through his flaming red hair.

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Woo! Let's hear it for cliffhangers! ^_^


	6. Windows to the Soul

**Author's Notes:** I changed a few things around in this chapter, but one thing that I refused to change was Crazy/Eccentric!Madam Pomfrey. Sure, she's not in character, but this is seven years later, and she could have tragically lost her mind in those seven years. ^_~ That's my way of justifying a character who was way too much fun to get rid of/change. ^_^

***

"Ron?" Hermione said tentatively, still standing next to a stiff Paul White. "Answer me…"

"Let's just get these boys to the hospital wing," Ron said with a weary sigh. He suddenly didn't look boyish and jubilant, but tired and distressed.

  
Reluctantly, Hermione nodded. She conjured two stretchers with her wand, then gently floated Paul onto it. Ron carefully placed Roger on the other. Hermione hesitated, then slowly reached out her fingers to touch Paul's forehead. She immediately recoiled, as if she had been burned. He was as cold as ice, his features frozen in an expression of shock and surprise. The duo almost looked as if they weren't real, like they one of those silly wax figurines you found in Muggle wax museums. Hermione involuntarily shivered; was that what Harry and Ron had had to look at when she had been Petrified in second year?

"All right," Ron muttered, running a hand through his hair. "We'd better take the back roads back to the castle. There's no use in taking the main streets and scaring the heck out of everyone."

Hermione mutely nodded. With a wave of her wand, she sent both stretchers gliding through the air before them. Ron and Hermione followed the Petrified victims, creating a strange, silent procession.

The two boys stared at the cloud-streaked sky, unblinking, the entire way back to the castle.

***

Professors Granger and Weasley stood side-by-side in the hospital wing, their faces pale, but their cheeks red from the harsh October winds they'd braved outside. Both jumped as a grey-haired, wrinkled Madam Pomfrey suddenly appeared beside them, wringing her hands.

"Gah! You're still alive?" Ron exclaimed, staring at the elderly hospital matron in disbelief. Hermione roughly elbowed him in the ribs.

The hospital matron had definitely aged in the few years since Ron had seen her last. Some of the more polite Hogwarts residents said that all of those stressful years during the time when Hermione, Ron, and Harry were students had 'affected her a bit'. The bolder residents and the gossips simply said that the Petrified students, the girls turning into cats, the multiple Quidditch injuries, and the stressful times before Voldemort's end had turned Madam Pomfrey downright...eccentric.

"I'm getting too old for this!" Madam Pomfrey moaned loudly. "Petrified! Both of them!"

Hermione shuddered visibly. "What…er…could have caused this?" she inquired weakly, trying not to remember the last time students had been Petrified at Hogwarts.

"Well, have you seen any giant snakes lurking around?" Madam Pomfrey asked sarcastically, sinking into a nearby chair. She noticed the wide-eyed look on Hermione's face. "Oh, don't _worry_. Of course it's not another Basi…Basta…"

"Basilisk?" Ron suggested dryly, folding his arms.

"Yes, yes, Basilisk. Don't be _silly_, my girl. I was only _joking."_

"Ha ha," muttered Ron sarcastically under his breath.

"But, to be serious, I haven't the faintest clue what could have caused this." Madam Pomfrey furrowed her eyebrows thoughtfully. "_Unless_…" she suddenly perked up, her eyes wide. "There _is a spell that can Petrify people, but that's very, _very_ advanced Dark magic…argh! I'm getting too _old_ for this."_

"We've established that," Ron murmured. "Well, thank you Madam Pomfrey!" he said loudly, turning to leave." Please tell us if you find anything new…"

"Oh _no you don't, young man!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, clutching at Ron's robes. "Don't think you can just run off! You're going _straight_ to the Headmaster to tell him about this, do you hear?"_

"Uh…of course," Ron replied, trying to grab his robes back from the hospital matron. "Headmaster…yes…"

"And _don't talk so loudly!" Madam Pomfrey yelled shrilly. "I've got people in here trying to get some __rest!"_

"Sorry, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said in a whisper, grabbing Ron's arm and leading him out of the hospital wing. "Thanks again."

"Shhh!" Madam Pomfrey hissed as they closed the door behind them.

"She frightens me," Ron admitted as the two walked down the hall towards the headmaster's office. Hermione abruptly stopped in front of the entrance, folding her arms.

"All right," she said hastily. "Talk. Now. What's going on?"

Ron sighed and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Maybe we should see Dumbeldore first - "

"_Now."_

Ron sighed again, glancing from side to side. He suddenly grabbed Hermione and ducked into a nearby, conveniently empty classroom and closed the door quietly. Ron hopped on top of a desk and sat there, swinging his legs back and forth. Hermione remained standing, tapping her foot impatiently, though her face was still pale and troubled.

"I didn't just come here to teach," Ron finally said. "Although it _is a nice break from slaying vampires and such…"_

"Go on," Hermione demanded.

Ron took a deep breath, his eyes looking as weary as Hermione felt. "Dumbledore sent me and Harry an owl a few months ago, which wasn't unusual. He writes us quite a lot. Anyways, so this letter was all cheerful and normal and whatnot, and then out of nowhere, he writes, 'By the way, I think someone at Hogwarts may be trying to dispose of me. If either of you are interested in a teaching job, please let me know.' Just like that. Me and Harry – "

"Harry and I," Hermione corrected automatically. Ron gave her a look and she promptly shut her mouth.

"_Harry and I thought it was a joke at first, but then we figured Dumbledore wouldn't joke about something like that. We thought that maybe the bloke had gotten a bit too old and a little nutty and paranoid, you know?"_

"He isn't nutty and paranoid," Hermione snapped defensively.

Ron looked grim. "I know that now…" he glanced out the window at the darkening sky. "So I had really wanted to visit to Hogwarts anyways because…" his cheeks suddenly went pink. Ron cleared his throat and continued. "Because, you know, I…missed the old place. Anyway, I wrote back to Dumbledore saying I'd come and check it out. See, he wanted an Auror around, because he seemed to think that whoever's out to get him is…"

Ron abruptly stopped and shifted his weight on the desk, looking uncomfortable. Hermione looked at him expectantly. "Yes? Go on…"

Ron looked reluctant. "Don't go mental on me."

"Why would I?"

"Because."

"Because _why?"_

"Because…because Dumbledore thinks that one of You-Know-Who's old followers is out to get him," Ron blurted out. "One of the loonies that thinks he's still alive."

If Hermione had been pale before, it was nothing compared to the shade of chalk white her face had turned now. Her knees seemed to give out, and she leaned against the desk behind her for support. "What?" she asked weakly.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Ron said sympathetically. "I really am. But please, _please, believe me, I didn't bring this…stuff here. I only came to help."_

Hermione shook her head, trying to clear it. She put a hand to her temple and stared at the ground. "How did he know?" she asked after a few moments of silence.

"How did who know what?"

"That…" Hermione made several motions with her hands, trying to get the words out. "That…someone was trying to…and that he's one of…You-Know-Who's…"

Looking grim, Ron reached inside his robes and pulled out a piece of worn, ragged-looking parchment. As he unravelled it, Hermione could see that the words in the letter were made up of letters that seemed to be cut out of a magazine. Feeling her hands shaking slightly, Hermione leaned forward and stared at it.

_DuMBLedorE__,_

_yOUr__ TimE iS UP._

There was no signature, but a picture of someone's eye, also cut out of a magazine, was pasted at the bottom of the letter.

"Well," Hermione said shakily. "T-there's…obviously…nothing to be afraid of," she tried to say airily. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself. "I mean, obviously the person's not too bright…if they're plotting a murder, then…then…why would they send their… victim a warning letter?"

"Like I said," shrugged Ron. "Loony."

"I mean, he can't exactly be a criminal mastermind," Hermione continued, feeling a little better. Practical reasoning always helped. 

"I wouldn't be so sure," Ron said with a long-suffering sigh. "Look what our loony did to those two kids."

Both professors were silent after that. Hermione was using every ounce of energy she possessed to stay calm.

_This isn't a threat, Hermione told herself sternly, looking down at the letter again. _It's just one of You-Know-Who's old followers who went completely insane after he died, and has nothing better to do with his life but cut out letters from magazines and…__

Hermione suddenly let out a bloodcurdling scream as the cut-out eye on the bottom of the page did something extremely strange. It winked at her. Still screaming, she dropped the piece of parchment and ran to the classroom door, trying to open it.

"Hermione?" Ron said in concern, crossing over to his old friend. She was frantically tugging on the door. "Hermione? …_Hermione!"_

Ron placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder. The usually collected professor stopped tugging on the door and whirled around; her hair had come loose, her eyes were wide, and she was breathing in ragged gasps.

"Calm down," Ron said soothingly, placing his other hand on her other shoulder and looking her in the eye. "It was from a wizard magazine…the pictures _will move occasionally. C'mon, Hermione, you know better by now. Just calm down…"_

Hermione's heart gradually stopped thumping painfully against her ribs. Taking a deep breath, she slumped her shoulders, Ron's hands still on them. With a start, Hermione realized that he was way too close to her. She stepped out of his grasp and took a few more calming breaths.

"All right," Hermione breathed, "I'm fine…I'm fine…oh, who am I kidding?" she wailed. "Why, why, _why_ did this have to happen? Everything was fine and peaceful and I was finally just getting over what happened – "

"If you blame me, I'll slap you," Ron said in an extremely serious tone, although the corners of his mouth twitched into a smile.

"I know it's not your fault…" Hermione admitted, waving her hand dismissively. "But still...I hate…argh. Why can't I lead a _normal_ life?" she finished gloomily.

"Maybe because you're a witch who practices magic and teaches at a school of witchcraft and wizardry?" Ron suggested brightly.

"That's _not what I meant."_

"Mmmhmm," Ron replied, not convinced. "So…are you going to help me find out who's trying to get rid of Dumbledore?"

"What?" Hermione exclaimed in disbelief. "Absolutely _not!"_

"Please, Hermione?"

"I won't blame you for bringing trouble here, but I draw the line at _helping you!"_

"Come on, it'll be just like old times!"

"You're sick."

Ron glanced down at the floor and became quiet and serious. "I _need_ your help, Hermione. Don't make me get down on one knee."

Hermione started, her head snapping around to stare at Ron. "What?"

"Er…I meant, like…begging - on one knee - begging…" Ron's face flushed red. "…You know?"

"Oh…yes…of course."

There was a very long, awkward silence.

"Please?" Ron pleaded suddenly.

"No!"

"Pretty please?"

_"No!"_

"But I need your – "

"I'm not getting involved in this, Ron," Hermione said firmly in her no-nonsense voice.

Ron sighed heavily. "Fine. Let's go to Dumbledore, then. Pomfrey - crazy old bat that she is - was right. He needs to know about this."

Briefly feeling triumphant, Hermione walked out of the room and stood beside the stone gargoyle leading to Dumbledore's office. The feeling of triumph faded away quickly, however, and was replaced with a feeling of queasiness and anxiety as Ron also exited the classroom, stuffing the threatening letter back into his robes.

***

_Click, click, click, click…_

Albus Dumbledore leaned forward in his chair, sky-blue eyes peering in amusement at the device before him.

_Click, click, click, click…_

While the deep blue eyes themselves looked young and roguish, surrounding them was a multitude of wrinkles and laugh lines; blemishes - or perhaps gifts - of age, depending on how you looked at things.

_Click, click, click, click…_

But behind the amused, twinkling eyes seemed to lay something else, something more. Dumbledore had long ago learned that eyes were truly a window to the soul, and had long ago mastered the art of reading them. His eyes were no exception; a power occasionally seemed to crackle through the seemingly innocent eyes; a power that had once radiated from the wizened man keenly staring forward, but a power that seemed to be diminishing slowly. Probing even deeper into his eyes, into his very soul, lay an emotion that even Dumbledore himself wouldn't admit was present.

_Click, click, click, click…_

Fear.

"Headmaster?" a soft voice said kindly, causing Dumbledore's gaze to be torn from the instrument before him.

Hermione Granger's face peered into his office, framed by a multitude of soft – yet often messy - brown curls. Her face was still young, and still looked capable of the mischief she and her friends had once caused in the castle, but her eyes were sharp, truly those of a professor. Reading his former student's eyes took patience for Dumbledore; Hermione had learned to disguise her emotions well. Today, however, was an exception - even someone untrained in the art of reading eyes would have noticed the fear and worry written all over Hermione's face.

"Hello, Hermione," Dumbledore said brightly, seemingly unperturbed. "Fascinating thing, isn't this?" he said, gesturing to the device in front of him. "Amazing what those Muggles will come up with."

"What is it?" said another familiar voice. Ronald Weasley ducked into the enormous, circular office, his red hair tousled and his freckles nearly jumping off his face. He, too, had worry etched into the expression on his face. Dumbledore immediately wondered why, but decided to continue his light conversation with them both.

"I believe it's called a pendulum," Dumbledore answered, tapping his fingers in time to the sound of the smooth, steel balls clicking together. "Entertainment for hours. I can't fathom _why_ they bothered inventing television…"

Hermione cleared her throat. "Um, Headmaster? I…" she fidgeted slightly, smoothing her robes and purposely not meeting the elderly wizard's gaze. "I believe…that Ron has something to tell you," Hermione finished hastily, nudging Ron. "Well…go on then."

Ron shot her a glare, then sighed and withdrew an all-too familiar piece of parchment from his robes. He dropped it on Dumbledore's desk, in front of the pendulum, which continued its clicking. "I'm afraid our 'Eye' has taken out his frustration…on two of the students."

This was no time for games anymore; Dumbledore swiftly stopped the pendulum, and then glanced up at the two professors, grim. "Which students?" he demanded, that frightening power he possessed flashing through his eyes.

"Roger Ramone and Paul White," Hermione replied in a small voice.

"Ah," Dumbledore replied, leaning back thoughtfully in his chair. "I should have guessed."

"This isn't just a threat anymore, Professor," Ron said, his voice deadly serious. "He's acted upon it now. I think we should consider getting you out of the castle - "

"Nonsense," Dumbledore cut in, waving his hand dismissively. "You should have learned by now that in times of crisis, this castle is the safest place to be. And I refuse to leave my staff and students to fend for themselves, especially with a crazed lunatic on the loose."

"But Headmaster…" Hermione began in a cajoling voice.

"Continue, Professor Weasley," Dumbledore said shortly, ignoring her. Hermione looked crestfallen. Dumbledore knew she was rather fond of him, but nonetheless, he refused to be treated like a frail old man.

"Well then…" Ron stopped and shrugged, sticking his hands in his pockets. "That's it, I guess. I came to tell you about the attacks, and to see what you think I should do now."

"Only I?" Dumbledore inquired, raising an eyebrow at Hermione. Her cheeks went slightly pink.

"I'm sorry, Headmaster, just…you know," Hermione said, flustered, "I'm busy with my studies…I mean, my classes…and, I can't possibly make time to - "

"To keep an eye out for a murderous fanatic who could be a threat to myself and the rest of the inhabitants of this castle?" Dumbledore interrupted rather sharply. "Well then, by all means, do not let me impose anything on you."

"I…I didn't mean like that…" Hermione mumbled.

Dumbledore turned to focus his attention on Ron again. "I believe, Mr. Weasley, that you should do some investigating. And perhaps tighten security a bit…have all the common room guardians change their passwords, and make certain that students are supervised in the hall."

"What should we tell the students?" Ron asked as Hermione began fidgeting. She often did so when she was nervous, or worried.

"Nothing," Dumbledore replied shortly. "They do not need to know…yet. There's no use in frightening them. They can be told that Paul and Roger had an accident in Hogsmeade, and that is all. Tell Poppy that they should not receive any visitors."

"And the staff?"

Dumbledore paused. "Who already knows?"

"Just me, you, and Hermione," Ron answered. He abruptly made a face. "And Madam Pomfrey," he added.

Dumbledore hesitated. His staff was incredibly dependable, and he knew that. And yet he had been taken advantage of twice before, by two people on his staff that he had thought also thought extremely trustworthy – Professor Quirrel, and Barty Crouch, Jr. in the guise of Alastor Moody. Contrary to popular belief, Albus Dumbledore made mistakes. He had always considered himself an excellent judge of character, and yet his judgment had now failed him twice in the recent past. It could be dangerous to tell the staff about Roger's and Paul's conditions, and the threat on his own life. Not only for the staff and student's own safety and well-being…but because Albus could no longer trust himself with deciding _who_ to trust. Dumbledore briefly marveled at that particular sentiment; it was one of the most puzzling paradoxes he had ever come across. Bringing his mind back to the situation at hand, Dumbledore sighed heavily.

"Tell no one else," he said gravely.

"What?" Hermione blurted out. "But…they have a right to know!"

"If our crazy friend does indeed decide to carry out his threat," Dumbledore said grimly, "then that means that he or she would have to have access to the castle. Our lunatic, or an accomplice of theirs, could very well be a member of the staff."

Hermione inadvertently let out a gasp. "Surely you're joking, Headmaster! None of the other teachers would even think of harming you or - "

"Oh, wouldn't they?" Ron interrupted, folding his arms. "That Drago woman seems quite capable of violence. Just the other day I saw her shove a student in the halls," he announced. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him skeptically.

"What?" Ron exclaimed. "She did!"

"Oh, how clever, Ron - let's blame the Slytherin Head again," Hermione muttered.

There was a long silence, devoid of the pendulum's incessant, yet somehow comforting clicking. Dumbledore let out a long sigh then waved for the two to go.

"Thank you, Ron," Dumbledore said, nodding. It was not a thanks meant to make Hermione feel guilty or left out, but she did just the same.

"Oh, fine!" Hermione burst out. "I'll help him find out who it is." She crossed her arms, looking unhappy.

"Excellent," Dumbledore smiled. "Thank you very much, Hermione."

Hermione sighed in response. "You're welcome," she answered, starting to leave. She abruptly stopped and turned around, looking at Dumbledore imploringly. "You'll take care of yourself, won't you, Albus?"

"Of course," Dumbledore answered warmly. "Now you two should get going; you're both a mess," he stated, a twinkle in his eye. "I'll see you at supper."

"Goodbye, Headmaster," Hermione called as she and Ron left the room, closing the door softly behind them.

Dumbledore sank into his chair, his eyes now tired and weary. He stared hard at the pendulum, thinking.

Outside, Hermione and Ron made their way down the winding staircase, their feet thumping softly on the carpeted stairs. Hermione looked sour; Ron, however, was smiling to himself, staring at her.

"What are you smiling about?" Hermione snapped. "I hope you know I'm doing this for him, and not for you."

"I know," Ron admitted. He suddenly grinned as the stone gargoyle swung open, and they stepped out into the halls. "But there's got to be a tiny little part of the old Hermione Granger still in there that can't wait to go down to the library and solve the mystery, isn't there?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. Ron just grinned again and started down the corridor. "See you at supper!" he called, turning the corner.

Hermione folded her arms and narrowed her eyes. He was getting cocky.

She hated it when he got cocky.

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**Review dance of old:** *Does reviewing dance, which, curiously, is to the theme of Ghostbusters*

Good times.__


	7. When in Doubt

**Author's Notes: Yes, you may read this chapter, but only after you answer me these questions three. Question the first…**

…_What is your favourite colour?!_

Let's hear it for Monty Python.

***

"What the bloody hell do you mean they had an _accident?!_"

_"Mister Brady!" Professor Granger snapped. "You will not use such language in my classroom!"_

"Sorry Professor," Max Brady intoned dismissively, his handsome young face still scarlet with anger. "But we need Roger to play tomorrow! He's the best bloody Seeker we've had since the great Harry Potter!" Max suddenly bowed his head solemnly. "May his broom always be swift," he added.

Hermione let out a strangled, frustrated sound, leaning back in her stiff wooden chair. Max Brady, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team and also the object of many seventh-year girls' affections, was not the only student to fire questions at her today. Rumours had begun spreading like wildfire around the school about Roger and Paul's whereabouts, not even twenty-four hours after the Hogsmeade incident.

"I'm afraid," Hermione said slowly and patiently after a deep, calming breath, "that Roger will not be well enough to play tomorrow. And yes," she said quickly as Max opened his mouth in outrage, "I'm just as disappointed as you are that he will not be able to play. But a student's health is far more important than a victory for Gryffindor, so you'll just have to find someone else."

"Someone else?!" Max cried, deeply offended. "_Someone else?!_ Professor, do you have any idea what it takes in order to train a member of the Gryffindor Quidditch team? We're a well-oiled machine, ma'am, and someone else can't just be introduced to the team like that!" He smacked his fist into his palm for effect.

"Well, you'll just have to make do," Hermione said shortly. "Goodbye, Mr. Brady."

"But - "

"She said _goodbye, Brady. Last time I checked, that meant get lost, you little punk," a voice stated wryly from the doorway of the classroom. Both Professor Granger and Max started, their heads snapping around to find Diana Drago leaning against the doorframe. The Potion Master's long, straight black hair spilled onto her shoulders, and a cynical smile that didn't quite reach her steely, ice blue eyes played across her ashen face._

"You'd better get your behind in gear," Drago said casually, strolling over to Hermione's desk, "if you want to find a new Seeker for that 'well-oiled machine' of yours. If not, you may just have to forfeit to Slytherin. And we wouldn't want _that_ to happen, would we?" Her red lips were drawn into a sweet smile.

Max gave the Slytherin Head the best look of contempt he could muster and stomped out of the room, muttering under his breath. Diana smiled again and perched herself on the edge of one of the empty desks in Hermione's classroom, carelessly swinging her legs back and forth. Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes and bent her curly head, returning to the marking she was doing.

"What an inopportune time for Roger to have an accident," Diana commented casually. "Just when the Gryffindors were beginning to get cocky, they're going to lose miserably tomorrow. How sad."

"As you can see I'm rather busy," Hermione interrupted, setting down her quill and giving Diana a matter-of-fact look.

"Oh, I'm not bothering you, am I?" Drago replied in mild surprise. "Professor Granger, you should've said something." She grinned wickedly and hopped off the desk as Hermione picked up her quill again, resuming her work.

"So do tell…what's with all the secrecy? Two students injured, extra supervision in the halls, passwords changed…" Diana counted them all off on her fingers. "Almost makes one think that there's something going on."

"Maybe," Hermione replied irritably, setting down her quill once again, "the Headmaster realized what poor security we have around here and decided to step it up a bit."

Drago stared at her, unimpressed. "Really, is that the best you can come up with? And to think I heard that in your Hogwarts days you were quite the little genius…wonder what happened…"

Hermione clenched her quill more tightly, and set it down a final time. She wasn't going to let this woman get the best of her. "Oh, I'm sorry...did you not _go to Hogwarts?" she said with fake surprise. "Ah, yes, that's right…you weren't accepted! I had forgotten," Hermione smirked. She felt triumphant as Diana's face briefly clouded, but it was quickly masked by her usual sarcastic expression._

"Oh, very clever Professor," Drago retorted, folding her arms. "It must just kill you that I got my education elsewhere, yet I'm a teacher _here, doesn't it?"_

"Hmm," Hermione mused, pretending to be thoughtful. "Now, why didn't you get a teaching position at Durmstrang? Oh _yes_, because the Ministry closed it down. What a shame that was."

Some foreign emotion flickered over Drago's face, but once again she replaced it quickly with a sneer. "Touché, Professor," she said with a smirk. "My, my, haven't we gotten saucy? Must be that red-headed Auror you've been hanging around with," she commented before beginning to stroll out of the classroom. "Pleasure talking to you, as usual!" the Potions Mistress called as she exited the room.

Hermione rolled her eyes, picking up her quill again. Although she had hated the comment about Ron, she couldn't help feeling slightly pleased with herself. Two could play at Diana Drago's little witty comeback game. The shadow of a satisfied smile tugged at the corners of Hermione's mouth as she finished marking the papers.

***

The stars studding the enchanted ceiling were pale that night at supper. Hermione could not help catching snatches of the students' chatter, which wafted over to the Head Table.

"…they're both such idiots. I wouldn't be surprised if they did something stupid and ended up breaking half the bones in their bodies – "

"I heard that the Slytherin Quidditch team beat them up…"

"_I think they both caught some sort of rare tropical disease!"_

"You would."

Hermione frowned as she pushed mashed potatoes around on her plate. Roger and Paul's 'accident' had become a hot topic of conversation, she noted. They would have to come up with a better story, she decided uncomfortably. She still didn't like the fact that they were hiding the truth not only from the students, but also from most of the staff.

Professor Granger's thoughts were interrupted as, to her surprise, Dumbledore stood up, looking grim. Ron, sitting a few seats down, leaned over and gave Hermione a questioning look down the table. Hermione shrugged and glanced up at the Headmaster.

"I know many of you have been questioning the whereabouts of Roger Ramone and Paul White," Dumbledore began. There was a murmur of agreement from the students, followed by a hush as they stared up at the Headmaster, eager for information. "I assure you that they are in no danger, and that they are both healthy; however, I would ask that none of you seek to pester them. They need their rest. You can expect them back at school in no more than a few weeks."

"Why can't we see them?" a blonde fourth-year, rumored to have a crush on Paul, whined pathetically.

The famous twinkle flashed in Dumbledore's eye. "I hear they're highly contagious," he responded innocently. Whispers immediately broke out amongst the students. Dumbledore held up his hands for silence.

"Also, I would like to remind all Hufflepuffs to see Professor Willows about the password change in their common - " Dumbledore abruptly stopped, his eyes briefly turning glassy. Hermione and Ron simultaneously made a move as if to stand up, but Dumbledore simply shook his head to clear it.

" - common room," Dumbledore finished. He stood there for a few more seconds, and then collapsed to the floor.

"Albus!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed shrilly, leaping out of her chair at the same time as Ron and Hermione. The rest of the teachers also stood in alarm as Ron, Hermione, and Minerva quickly knelt by the frail form of Albus Dumbledore. Ron took his pulse as Hermione fretfully brushed a few strands of snow-white hair out of the headmaster's closed eyes. The sound of chairs scraping against the floor was heard as several students stood up, trying to see what had happened. Frightened chatter broke out.

"Headmaster?" Hermione said as she gently shook Dumbledore, straining to keep her voice calm. "Albus!"

"Hmm?" the sound came from Dumbledore's lips, though his eyes remained closed. Slowly they opened, their cold blue depths distant. A small sigh escaped Dumbledore; then, clutching McGonagall's robes, he struggled to get up.

"Easy there, Dumbledore," Ron said firmly, trying to get the older man to lie back down. Dumbledore pushed his hand away and sat up. Grabbing his cane, the once commanding and powerful wizard shakily stood.

"I believe supper is over," he announced hoarsely to the student body. There were more whispers, followed by the sounds of chairs being pushed back once again as students took the hint and began trickling out of the Great Hall, their eyes still fixed on the Headmaster.

"Albus, you need rest," Hermione said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. Dumbledore stared forward at the exiting students, unblinking and indifferent.

"Yes," he said emotionlessly. "I'll be in my chambers." With that, the Headmaster turned and slowly made his way around the Head Table, hobbling out of the Great Hall.

"Shouldn't someone - " Ron began.

"No," McGonagall interrupted, almost sadly. "He won't let anyone help him," she finished as the staff silently watched his retreating form.

Before Hermione knew it, Ron was dragging her to the library. Still worried about Dumbledore's condition, she allowed herself to be dragged along, unconsciously chewing her bottom lip. They found the library empty; evidently, a strict curfew had also been enforced for the safety of the students, and all were securely in their common rooms.

"…Why are we here?" Hermione said blankly, seeming to have just noticed where she was. Ron disappeared in the Restricted Section and returned with a pile of books.

"I learned this from a friend of mine," Ron said with a slight grin. "When in doubt, go to the library." He dropped the books in front of Hermione, grabbed the one on top, then plopped himself into the chair next to her and flipped it open.

"What are we looking for?" Hermione asked as she stared down at the books before her, confused. "Something for the Headmaster? He's sick, Ron, there's nothing we can do about - "

"No, no," Ron answered, shaking his head. "We're doing some research on everybody's favourite threatening note-writing lunatic." A grim look briefly shadowed his freckled face. "And Dumbledore…he's probably just over-stressed, that's all. The guy has to run a school with the knowledge that a murderous nut wants to kill him. I'd eventually pass out too."

These words comforted Hermione slightly. _He's right. The Headmaster isn't sick, _she told herself firmly. _The poor man is probably just worried and stressed out. That's all…_

"So what are we looking for?" Hermione asked, breaking her own train of thought.

"Names," Ron replied, beginning to flip through a book with a quill in hand and parchment ready. "Names, names, names. Anyone who was associated with Voldemort." 

Hermione flinched at the name.

"Most of them are either dead, or in Azkaban," Ron continued. "But there's a handful still running around out there. I want to know who they are, and where they are."

"A suspect list?" said Hermione shakily. She had, perhaps, watched one too many Muggle detective dramas on television with her mother as a child.

"Through the process of elimination, yes. Might be a tad lengthy, but…it's worth a shot."

Hermione paled as she stared down at the books in front of her.

_The Death of Darkness.___

_You-Know-Who: A Dark Legacy._

_Followers and Foes: A Lengthy List of You-Know-Who's Closest Supporters and Worst Enemies._

She cleared her throat and, with a shaky hand, bravely opened _The Death of Darkness_ as Ron furiously scribbled down name after name beside her.

Hours passed slowly and painstakingly. Every name Hermione wrote, every book she opened, filled her with a foreboding fright she couldn't explain. Every book was a reminder of the terrifying things she, Harry, and Ron had faced together, every page a reminder of the Dark Lord's dying shrieks. Yet with every book she finished and cover she slammed shut, Hermione felt an unexpected surge of triumph as she conquered her fear. Finally, in the pre-dawn light and with heavy bags under their eyes, Professors Weasley and Granger compared the lists they had compiled.

"Jordan Everett," Hermione called out, yawning.

"Azkaban," Ron replied, his eyes-half closed as he thought. He opened them to watch her scratch out the name with fluorish.

"Ethan Fortinbras."

"Back on our side. Claims he was under the Imperius curse. Keep him on the list."

"Donovan and Samantha Owens."

"Samantha's in Azkaban. Donovan's assumed dead, but his whereabouts are still unknown…keep him."

"Gerald…" Hermione's eyes widened slightly as she saw the last name. She tried to stifle a giggle, and failed. She'd been up all night, her head hurt from reading the tiny print in the texts, and she was feeling slightly delirious. Gerald's last name was the catalyst; despite everything, the collected professor began giggling hysterically.

"What?" Ron asked, furrowing his eyebrows. He snatched the piece of parchment and stared down at the name. "Gerald Dumfart? You made that one up!"

Tears were now streaming down Hermione's face as she continued laughing madly, arms folded across her stomach. She managed to shake her head "no" between fits of fervent laughter. Ron started chuckling too until the two professors were nearly falling out of their chairs laughing.

Ron wiped tears from his eye as he slowly recovered. Gasping for breath, Hermione did the same. Both grinned at each other until Hermione realized how foolish she must have looked and quickly glanced down at the parchment again.

"It's late," Ron finally said, still wearing a grin. "We're both bloody tired, and probably delirious. We can finish this later."

"No, no it's all right," Hermione insisted, trying to compose herself by smoothing her hair. "There's only a few names left on this piece of parchment."

Ron smiled brightly and nodded. "All right. Go. And I've never heard of Gerald Dumfart, so you should probably keep him."

Hermione snorted and glanced back down at her list. "Okay. Adrian Thayer."

"Deceased."

"Alonso Dra - " Hermione abruptly stopped and examined the name more carefully, her eyes wide. She didn't remember writing this one down. Then again, she'd been half-asleep, and she didn't remember writing a lot of names down. But _this had to be a bizarre coincidence._

"Alonso what?" Ron demanded, suspicion sneaking into his voice, as if he had already guessed. Hermione wordlessly pushed the piece of parchment across the table.

"Alonso Drago," Ron said bitterly, circling the name. "Should have known."

"Do you know of him?" Hermione asked in a small voice.

"No, but I think we can all guess who he's related to. It's not as if it's a common name."

"Diana's…what? Brother? Father?"

"Father, most likely," Ron replied, shaking his head furiously. "I told you. I knew that woman was no good."

"Ron, don't assume…I mean, sure she went to Durmstrang and there's a slight possibility that her father…" Hermione trailed off. Why was she defending Diana? She wasn't exactly fond of her.

"She went to Durmstrang?" Ron cut in, a strange glint in his eyes. "Well, that pretty much seals the deal, doesn't it?" he said wryly, folding his arms.

"Not everyone that came out of Durmstrang turned bad!"

"Sure, that's why they shut it down."

"Viktor went to Durmstrang and he turned out just fine!"

Ron paused and glanced up, a familiar, cold look in his eyes. "Ah yes. Viktor Krum. How could I forget?" he stated, not bothering to keep the biting tone out of his voice. "How is old Vicky?"

"Oh for goodness sake Ron, don't start this again!" Hermione exclaimed as she pushed back her chair and stood up, flustered. "I haven't even spoken to him since he started playing Quidditch full-time!"

Ron took a deep breath and also stood up, but slowly. "Sorry," he said quietly, noting the upset look on his friend's face. "It's late, and we're tired, and likely to say things we don't mean. So let's just go to bed."

The young witch's shoulders slumped as she nodded in weary agreement, her eyes heavy with fatigue. She allowed Ron to walk her to her room, one arm entwined with hers.

"Good night, Ron," Hermione said with a weary sigh as they stopped in front of her room. Ron nodded and slowly untangled his arm from hers.

"'Night, Hermione. Get some rest," Ron responded quietly. He hesitated, appearing as if he was going to do something but then changed his mind. Sticking his hands in his pockets beneath his robes, he nodded to her then shuffled off in the direction of his room.

Hermione paused outside her door for a few moments, watching him walk away, before shaking her head at herself and walking into her room.

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Aw, tender moments! But if you're like my beta, Night Zephyr, and have a really dirty mind, you probably read a lot more into, "So let's just go to bed," than should have been there and may or may not have gotten all excited. C'mon, kids…this is a _family story! ^_~_

Quick, review like the wind!


	8. Dinner and Dancing

**Author's Notes: Here's a poem I wrote when trying to frantically finish this fic on Sugar Quill before OotP came out:******

The 21st of June,

Is coming very soon.

And though this fic's not done,

(There's a Chapter Twenty-One),

I hope that you'll still read it,

Despite Order of the Phoenix.

Yeah, 'it' and 'Phoenix' don't rhyme. But let's pretend it did.

  
I changed quite a bit around in this chapter, particularly in the dinner scene. Let's see if anyone notices.

***

"And so, the accountant's boss says, 'I think you've miscalculated the figures in the fourth quarter.' And the accountant replies, 'Sir, that's not the balance sheet, that's your wife!'"

Charles Griney giggled hysterically at his own joke, attracting many disapproving stares from the Muggles around them and tight, strained smiles from their companions. Hermione smiled feebly, and then nonchalantly dropped her napkin so that she could duck under table and hide her burning face.

The two were dining at a classy Muggle restaurant in London along with one of Charles' business associates, Eustace Flaherty, and his wife, Magnolia. And Charles had done nothing but embarrass Hermione since their arrival at the restaurant. As she emerged from her sanctuary beneath the table, Hermione caught many well-to-do Muggles clad in expensive-looking cocktail dresses and Italian suits still glancing over at him, eyebrows raised. Hermione sighed, defeated, and didn't make an effort to stop Charles' annoying, high-pitched laughter. She merely rested her chin on her hand and tried to ignore how uncomfortable the expensive black dress she'd bought for the occasion was.

Charles had begun mentioning this 'business dinner' weeks ago, and to Hermione's dismay, he had soon invited her to accompany him. But first, he'd insisted on taking her out to spend a carefully-planned day in London. Hermione would have preferred to stay at Hogwarts and have a quiet evening to herself, but unfortunately, Dumbledore had agreed to give her the day off.

The hustle, bustle, and excitement of the Christmas season seemed to have put a little colour back into the headmaster's face, which had been disturbingly pale ever since the incident in the Great Hall a few weeks ago. This had given everyone in the castle a little boost; nearly all of the students wore bright smiles, as did most of the teachers, in spite of the extra supervision being strictly enforced.

Paul and Roger, however, were not forgotten. Daily, Madam Pomfrey had to fight off nosy first-years, friends of the two troublemakers, the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team, and even a few curious members of the staff who wished to see the boys. The hospital matron seemed to be at her wits' end, as were Ron and Hermione, who were not only being pestered by students about Paul's and Roger's condition, but also by their co-workers, who suspected they knew something. This was not helped by the fact that Professors Weasley and Granger had been getting very little sleep lately, spending long nights in the library compiling "The List", as Ron solemnly referred to it. They had narrowed it down to twenty or so names, and were now doing extensive research into each of them. Alonso Drago was now their top priority, but unfortunately, there seemed to be very little information about him in any of the books they'd sifted through.

Hermione was brought back to reality when a waiter, wearing an expression of disdain as he glanced at a boisterously laughing Charles, set down their food in front of them. Charles wiped a tear from his eye as he slowly calmed down, still chuckling.

"Ah, escargot!" he said enthusiastically, rubbing his hands together as he looked at his plate. "A personal favourite of mine, I must say. What's that you've ordered, Eustace?"

"Filet mignon," replied Flaherty. He was a very dull co-worker of Charles', and his wife, a rather glamorous-looking younger woman with vivid red hair, looked extremely bored; not only with the uneventful meal, but also with her husband.

"And what did _you order, sugarplum?" Charles asked, turning to Hermione and beaming._

Hermione inadvertently winced at the stupid nickname, and chanced a glance at to see if the Flaherty's had noticed it. Thus far, the day she and Charles had spent together had not been so bad - in fact, it had passed quite pleasantly. The two had quietly strolled around a snowy London, which had been rather enjoyable, and to Hermione's relief, devoid of irritating nicknames or long-winded, one-sided conversations. She seemed to get along with Charles best when they spent some relaxing, quiet time alone. Charles had been sweet, though not overly so, and doting all day, the picture of a gentleman. In fact, the day had been perfect until they'd come for dinner, and suddenly Charles was an exasperating idiot again. Sometimes Hermione swore he was two different people.

"Pasta primavera," Hermione answered her boyfriend dully, swirling red wine around in her glass.

"Ah, excellent choice," Charles commended her, taking a sip of wine then delicately beginning to eat his escargot. It suddenly occurred to Hermione that escargot were snails. She suddenly lost her appetite, and occupied herself with marveling at how she had never thought of this before.

"As I was saying, Charles," continued Eustace, a balding, thin man in his forties, "the budget this year is extremely constraining, and the Minister is not making matters easy for us. We're bending over backwards just to keep funding the Ministry's ongoing projects. I mean, we're not looking to make a profit here - this is a government, after all – but I'm inclined to agree with that…what's-his-name… Stamp? Stark? State? Never mind, it's that young fellow who's been critiquing the financial situation at the Ministry of late."

Charles nodded vigorously in rapt attention. Magnolia rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath. She caught Hermione's eye and gave her a warning look.

"Get out while you still can," she advised her under her breath. Hermione smiled uncertainly back and shook her head, pretending not to have heard.

The rest of the meal was rather uneventful and full of more tedious, financial talk. Hermione tried to make polite conversation with Magnolia, who appeared to be much more interested in the young man waiting on their table. Finally, the attractive young woman pushed back her chair and pursed her painted lips together.

"Eustace, I'm extremely tired," she said rather rudely. "Are we done here?"

Eustace glanced at Charles, who smiled back brightly. "I'm afraid we'll have to excuse ourselves," Eustace apologized in his monotonous voice, reaching into his wallet and fishing out some Muggle currency. He began counting out bills and then, shaking his head in exasperation, left a thick wad on the table. "I suppose that will be sufficient funds. I could never understand their currency."

"Nice to meet you," Hermione said half-heartedly as Eustace reached for his coat.

"Likewise." He nodded to them both, and then was all but dragged out of the restaurant by an impatient Magnolia.

"So," Charles began loudly once they had left, washing down his snails with some wine, "I assume that, after dinner, we'll be Apparating into Hogsmeade, and perhaps we can catch a carriage back to the castle – "

"Charles!" Hermione hissed as the people at the next table glanced over curiously at the word 'Apparating'. "_Must you be so loud?"_

Charles' face paled as he set down his wine and pushed it away. "I'm terribly sorry," he whispered back, looking genuinely ashamed of himself. "You'd think I'd know better, honestly…I should probably stop drinking this wine…"

Hermione felt a tug at her heart strings; Charles looked like a guilty little boy caught doing something wrong. She smiled despite herself. "It's all right. It happens to the best of us," she assured him.

Charles smiled back at her, the colour slowly returning to his face. He set down his fork and leaned closer to Hermione across the table. Clearing his throat, he took a deep breath. "Hermione," he began, using her real name instead of a nickname, "we've been seeing each other for over a year now…"

Hermione's heart slowly sank. She had a feeling she knew where this was going, and she suddenly felt panicked. Hermione's cheeks flushed and her heart raced as she prayed he wasn't asking her what she thought he was…

"…and I just want you to know," Charles continued, "that I love you." He gave her a dazzling smile.

Hermione felt her pulse return to normal, and breathed a small sigh of relief. There was no ring in sight. She was safe for now.

"Oh," Hermione responded, giving him a small smile and taking a quick sip of wine. "Thank you," she said politely.

Charles' face fell as he leaned back into his chair. "That's…not quite the answer I was looking for," he said dejectedly.

Hermione felt a wave of guilt wash over her. Feeling horrible, she attempted to form the words and reply the way he wanted her to. But she couldn't. The words fell dead on her tongue, refusing to be spoken. She just didn't love Charles. Not in the traditional sense of the word. She did _like_ Charles…usually. After all, he was everything she wanted - handsome, organized, stable, polite, even a member of the Ministry - but she didn't love him. And Hermione couldn't lie to his face.

"It's getting late," the curly-haired witch said hastily, pushing her unfinished food away. "We should probably be going…"

"Very well," Charles replied gloomily, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice. "Cheque, please," he called dully, motioning to the waiter.

The strong feeling of guilt, which seemed to have lodged itself in Hermione's throat, only became stronger as they walked out of the restaurant and down the street. They headed towards Diagon Alley, where it would be safe to Apparate.

"I'm feeling rather ill," Charles suddenly announced bluntly.

"Oh…" replied Hermione, swallowing the ball of guilt in her throat. "Well, you don't have to accompany me back to the castle…if you don't want…"

"No, no…you shouldn't be left alone," Charles said, shaking his head absent-mindedly. He led Hermione by the elbow into a darkened alleyway on the busy, well-lit street. Charles released her elbow and dropped his arm uselessly to his side, unable any longer to keep the bitter disappointment out of his voice.

"You go ahead, then," he murmured.

Hermione took a step backwards in order to Disapparate, and stepped directly into a large, deep puddle. Letting out a cry of surprise, Hermione quickly jumped out of the puddle, surveying the damage to her new dress. Charles didn't even make a comment, lost in his own disappointment.

Hermione sighed and Disapparated, Charles close behind her.

***

The carriage ride back to Hogwarts had been awkwardly silent, Hermione fidgeting uncomfortably every now and then. She disliked Charles' incessant chatter; but she decided, as they walked up the Grand Staircase at Hogwarts and towards the staff common room, that she disliked this silent, cold treatment even more. Anxious that she had really hurt his feelings, Hermione paused at the entrance to the common room and gave him a gentle smile. 

"That was a very lovely day, Charles."

"Mmm," Charles murmured absent-mindedly.

"Good night?" she tried hopefully.

"Good night," Charles returned unenthusiastically. Without so much as a peck on the cheek, he turned around and began walking away. Hermione sighed and wearily gave the password to the staff common room.

After wearily walking into the empty common room, Professor Granger stood still for a few moments, shoulders slumped. She noted in dismay that her costly black dress was completely ruined, and that her shoes and pantyhose were drenched. Frustrated, Hermione began stomping towards the staircase. The Arithmancy professor abruptly stumbled as the high-heel of one of her drenched, black, strappy shoes cracked and broke off.

"Argh!" Hermione shouted, picking up the heel and hurling it as far as she could. It hit the wall opposite to her, bounced off of it, and proceeded to hit her in the face. Hermione stood very still after that, a hopeless look on her face.

"Is something wrong?" a toneless voice behind her asked. Hermione nearly screamed as she whirled around, only to find Charles standing behind her, wringing his hands.

"Oh, no…" Hermione replied, quickly snatching up her heel. "I…I thought you were leaving?"

"Well, I remembered I had some matters to discuss with the Headmaster," Charles responded mechanically.

Hermione stared, feeling vaguely puzzled. "All right…"

Charles stood very still, as if waiting for something. Unsure of what to do or say, Hermione smiled uncertainly and softly touched his lips with her own. Charles brightened considerably, and then waited.

_He's waiting for me to say it, Hermione realized in dismay. __But I can't. I can't lie to him._

"Good night," she said again, feeling rather stupid.

Charles' face fell, and, to Hermione's surprise, something dark and bitter flashed in his usually bright, eager eyes. "Well…if you'll excuse me," Charles said, unable to keep a tinge of dejectedness out of his otherwise business-like voice. He briskly headed for the common room exit.

Hermione's shoulders slumped as she watched him leave. She should've felt…well, overjoyed. After months of ceaseless pampering and adoration, Charles was finally semi-angry with her. He was human after all. And yet no feeling of elation overcame her; instead, she just felt even guiltier.

"Charles, wait," Hermione said loudly, limping out of the common room with only one shoe on. To her surprise, her boyfriend was nowhere to be found. The corridor outside the common room was dark and vacant. Hermione frowned; the guy certainly moved fast for an accountant.

Thinking she could still catch up to him, Hermione hurriedly turned a corner and took a well-known teacher's shortcut towards Dumbledore's office. The waning moon, shining palely through the enormous windows lining the castle corridors, cast eerie-looking shadows on the rough stone walls. Nonplussed, Hermione continued limping along, far too used to the flickering shadows and looming statues which littered Hogwarts to be unsettled.

She passed the Great Hall as she hobbled towards Dumbledore's office, catching a swift, blurred image of the hall out of the corner of her eye. Ceiling, tables, a shirtless red-headed figure, walls, more tables…

Hermione abruptly stopped and furrowed her eyebrows. She slowly backed up and peered curiously into the Great Hall. To her astonishment, Ron was standing in the middle of the empty hall, shirtless and doing some strange, fluid movements. Hermione couldn't help but be captivated by the foreign movements; they were being performed effortlessly, with a kind of rhythm and balance she hadn't even dreamed her once gawky friend could manage.

"What are you _doing?" Hermione blurted out in awe. Ron stopped mid-motion and peered over his shoulder at her, an expression of surprise, followed by a sort of smugness crossing his face._

"Why, Professor Granger," he grinned, crossing over to the Ravenclaw house table. He picked up his shirt and school robes, which had been lying in a heap on the table. "Fancy seeing you here. Enjoy the show?"

Hermione felt herself blush a deep crimson. She quickly shook it off, ignoring his last comment and trying to appear cool. She managed to limp into the Great Hall, where Ron was now carelessly throwing on his shirt and robes. He smoothed out his black robes and leaned against the Gryffindor table, grinning.

"What are you doing shirtless in the Great Hall at eleven o'clock at night?" Hermione demanded. She instantly regretted the 'shirtless' part as Ron's grin grew even wider.

"Tai chi," he answered. "A fellow me and Harry know taught us. It's very relaxing."

"Harry and I," Hermione automatically corrected, trying to ignore the fact that Ron's eyes, much to Hermione's discomfort, were now on her sleek black dress. His eyes slowly travelled downwards until he noticed her shoes. "And what are _you doing all dressed up in the Great Hall at eleven o'clock at night wearing only one shoe?" he inquired casually._

"Oh…that…I…" Hermione mumbled, flustered. "I went out…to dinner, with Charles…" Ron's face briefly clouded. "And…I broke my shoe…and…yes," she finished lamely.

"Oh, that wild, rebellious Charles. You two crazy kids were dancing up such a storm that you broke your shoe, eh?" Ron said wryly.

"No," Hermione rapidly responded, hands on her hips. "I broke my shoe when I got back to Hogwarts. We didn't even _go_ dancing, for your information."

"You mean that ol' Charlie didn't even take the lady dancing?" Ron exclaimed in fake shock.

"Charles doesn't…dance," Hermione replied, unable to keep a note of wistfulness out of her voice.

Ron clasped a hand to his mouth in mock horror. "I beg your pardon? What do you see in him, woman?!"

Usually a comment like this would have provoked a rapid fire, stubborn, offended response from Hermione. But tonight, for some reason - maybe it was the wine - she just rolled her eyes and laughed at Ron's sudden dramatic flair. Ron seemed to be encouraged by this, because he suddenly took Hermione's hand in his.

"Wait…what are you doing?" Hermione demanded, her laughter dying away quickly.

"Dancing, of course," Ron replied simply, twirling his wand around in his free hand and murmuring something under his breath. Instantly, the full music of a tango filled the empty hall.

"Dance?" Hermione said blankly. "But you…I…can't…"

"And why not?"

"Because…I…I…I'm only wearing one shoe!"

Ron threw back his head and laughed. The warm, pleasant sound filled up the empty corners of the Hall that the music had not yet reached. "Then take them both off, stupid!" he said loudly over the music, which had suddenly hit a crescendo.

Hermione opened her mouth to argue, but only laughter came out; shaking her head, she tossed off both shoes. "There! Now what?"

"Now I put my arm around your waist like so…" Ron explained carefully, wrapping an arm around Hermione's waist. "And you put your hand in mine like so…"

"Ron," Hermione interrupted, suddenly unsure. "I don't think this is such a good idea - "

"Nonsense!" Ron exclaimed dismissively, pulling his old friend slightly closer to him. "And now…" he whispered in her ear in a fake, thick, Russian accent. "Ve dance."

Hermione's words of protest were drowned out by the music as Ron began to whirl her around, slowly at first then faster and faster to the tune of the quick, sonorous tango. The sound of Hermione's laughter bounced off the walls of the Great Hall, at times sounding louder than the music. Ron managed to keep a straight face as he dramatically twirled his colleague around. The music began getting quicker and quicker, louder and louder, until the two were dancing at a dangerously fast speed. This mad dance went on for a few moments longer until the music eventually came to a climax and then ended softly, with Ron dipping his dancing partner.

"Now," he said with a mischievous grin, his face inches from hers, "can Charlie do _that?"_

"No," Hermione managed to breath between gasps for breath and laughter, "I don't think he can." She slapped his arm as he pulled her up again. "Excuse me, and when did Ron Weasley learn to dance?"

Ron's neck coloured slightly, and Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Well it's not like I took _lessons or anything," Ron retorted. "It's not that hard, you just whirl around and whatnot."_

Both paused as another song magically came out of nowhere. It was soft and slow, unlike the frantic tango. Hermione glanced up at Ron with an eyebrow raised. He in turn smiled innocently.

"Shall we?" he asked politely. Without waiting for an answer, he put both hands around her waist, fingers sliding perhaps because of the silky material of her dress, or perhaps because he was slightly nervous, though Hermione knew he would deny it if he was.

"Now you put your arms around my neck like so…" Ron grinned as Hermione hesitantly, almost reluctantly, obeyed. "And we dance like _so…"_

Ron began gently swaying to the rhythm, arms securely around Hermione's waist. "You see?" Ron's breath tickled the back of her neck. "It may look like I'm dancing, but really, I'm just swaying back and forth and would look completely stupid were you not here doing the exact same thing. _That_ is the secret of dancing. Everyone looks stupid doing it until someone else joins them," Ron said matter-of-factly.

A nervous feeling had settled in the pit of Hermione's stomach, and it only increased as she swayed back and forth with Ron. A nagging voice in the back of her mind kept hissing for her to get away before it was too late, before something happened that she would regret. She ignored it, and Ron must have felt her muscles relax somewhat, because he pulled her a bit closer.

"I think Charles is going to ask me to marry him," Hermione abruptly whispered into Ron's ear. She mentally slapped herself. Why in the world had she blurted _that out?_

"Well," Ron murmured back thoughtfully, "I can't allow that to happen, can I?"

Hermione's heart seemed to stop; she hardly dared to believe Ron was saying what she thought he was. The nagging voice in her head has disappeared, only to be replaced by loud, shrill warning sirens.

"W-why not?" Hermione managed to stutter back.

"Think about it! Your name would be Her-mi-ney Gri-ney," Ron said in disgust.

Hermione couldn't help it; she burst out laughing. Ron grinned to himself and gently tightened his hold on her even more.

***

Outside the Great Hall, Charles Griney stood in the shadows, silently watching his girlfriend laugh and dance with that red-headed man; that Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. His face emotionless despite the turmoil going on within him, he turned and wordlessly walked down the Entrance Hall, then out of Hogwarts castle.

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DA NA NA!

I love the da na na chapters.

Hope you all enjoyed Ron's brief stint as a model for the official Harry Potter calendar. January: Shirtless Ron In Great Hall. February: Shirtless Harry In Gryffindor Common Room. March: Shirtless Draco In Dungeons. April: Shirtless Ron, Harry, and Draco Lying By The Lake. The possibilities are endless.


	9. Unhappy Holidays

**Author's Notes: Okay, this was too great not to include again. Especially since I'm feeling this way again right about now:**

This is a true story. It happened to a friend of a friend of mine - Silver Phoenix. She had much homework to do on many a night. Her weekends were spent doing homework. It was quite sad, the life of this girl named Silver Phoenix. However, she had hope, for soon summer would come! And then our poor protagonist, Silver Phoenix, would have all the time in the world to dance and prance and swim and go out with her friends and have bonfires and burn her Math and Chemistry binders in said bonfires and write her crazy Harry Potter story on fanfic.net. And so, she waited and waited for summer to arrive. And yet it never did…and yet it never did…

This is a true story. It happened to a friend of a friend of mine - Silver Phoenix. Keep her in your hearts, dear people, and hope, like her, that summer arrives soon.

***

Albus Dumbledore limped down the corridors of his school, which were swarming with robed students. A thick bundle of parchment was clutched in the headmaster's wrinkled hand, and a rare expression of frustration was etched on his wizened face. Students passed him by, occasionally giving him a nod or a smile, but most were oblivious to their headmaster's presence. They all seemed to be occupied with eagerly chatting about the Christmas holidays, which were fast approaching.

Dumbledore sharply turned a corner and hobbled into a less crowded hallway; in fact, it was nearly vacant except for a sixth-year girl and seventh-year boy, who seemed to be very busy. A sharp look from Dumbledore and the girl gave a little squeak, then broke away from the extremely red seventh year. Both hastily scurried off to class. Shaking his head, Dumbledore murmured a password and entered the staff room, where a few teachers were milling around, also pre-occupied with cheerfully discussing Christmas holidays. A quick glance around and the headmaster had spotted the two people he was searching for - former students, who were now, by a curious twist of fate, the people he was trusting with his life. Professor Granger's eyes caught the headmaster's troubled blue ones. She grabbed Professor Weasley by the sleeve and she dragged her colleague out of the room.

"Something wrong?" Ron asked in alarm as the trio exited the staff room. Dumbledore glanced around the deserted hallway then held up the roll of parchment in his hand. It slowly unfurled to reveal a very long letter.

"This is a letter from Mrs. Pruscilla White - " Dumbledore said, unable to keep a note of weariness out of his voice, " -demanding to know why her son can't come home for the Christmas holidays. And I'm expecting to get a rather lengthy and angry-sounding letter from a Mrs. Ramone sometime in the near future as well."

"I thought you said they'd be out of the hospital ward in a few weeks!" Hermione exclaimed, a bit too loudly. Both Dumbledore and Ron gave her a look, and she quickly lowered her voice, looking sheepish. "We can't keep lying to everyone like this!" she hissed.

"I know!" Dumbledore snapped irritably. Both of his former students gave him a surprised look. The headmaster took a deep breath and slowly began to roll the letter back up. "I know. I thought we could...but I was mistaken…you need a certain herb for that potion which, unfortunately, happens to be extinct. The only thing we can do is wait for the Mandrakes..."

"But they won't be ready until spring!" Hermione whispered, eyes wide.

Dumbledore smiled knowingly, looking a bit more like his old self for a moment. "Science is a marvelous thing, Miss Granger. I don't suppose you've read _Witch Weekly lately?"_

Hermione looked as if she hadn't picked up a copy of _Witch Weekly_ in her life. "I can't say I have."

Ron was staring at the headmaster queerly. "…And you have?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Dumbledore rummaged around in his robes and pulled out an ad, torn from a magazine. "Rapi-Gro," he said triumphantly. "A blessing for magical gardeners everywhere. This potion speeds plant growth up to three times as fast." He smiled briefly and put the advertisement away.

"So they'll be ready by the time Christmas holidays are over?" Hermione asked hopefully.

  
A frown suddenly creased Dumbledore's face, and the weary, tired look which he'd been wearing for the last few months returned as quickly as it had disappeared. "Mid-February. It's later than I had hoped."

"What're we going to do then?" Ron asked. "What will we tell people?"

"Their parents will have to be informed of the truth, I'm afraid," Dumbledore sighed. "And the staff and students…I do not know. However - "

"Excuse me, Ron," a polite voice said behind them. All three of them jumped and whirled around, hearts racing. A confused-looking Professor Willows was standing behind the trio, trying to get out of the staff room. The door had been blocked by Ron's back. "Is something wrong?" she asked in concern, looking at her two colleagues, and then at the headmaster.

"No, no," Dumbledore replied in the cheeriest voice he could muster. "Professor Willows, if I could have a word with you about the Mandrakes…you're staying at the castle for Christmas holidays, are you not?"

"Yes, Headmaster," she replied with a smile as Dumbledore motioned for her to follow him. The two walked down the hall, no doubt talking about the Rapi-Gro, which the Mandrakes would soon be subjected to.

"He's not well," Hermione commented sadly, not taking her eyes off Dumbledore until he had turned the corner and disappeared. "Did you see how he snapped? And he's trying so hard to pretend nothing's wrong…"

"As soon as we prove that Drago woman is behind this, I'm going to give her a swift kick in the - " Ron began angrily.

"Ron!"

"I apologize."

***

Professor Hermione Granger awakened slowly on Christmas morning. Smiling and stretching, she sat up, pale sunlight filtering into her room. The cold, frosty morning seemed less frigid with the arrival of soft, fat snowflakes that fell lazily past Hermione's bedroom window. A glance outside revealed the castle grounds in all their winter splendor, and the Quidditch field was hugged tightly by a blanket of snow. Hermione sighed contentedly and climbed out of bed, putting on a warm, fuzzy, yellow bathrobe over her white nightdress. Yawning again, she turned around towards her door.

Hermione fell backwards onto her bed as she was greeted by a grinning, freckled face. "Happy Christmas!" Ron exclaimed merrily, setting a Santa Claus hat on his flaming hair. He made sure it was on a jaunty angle before thrusting a present into Hermione's hands, beaming.

Hermione opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to get words out. "Ron!" she finally spluttered. "This…this is my _bedroom!_"

"I know," Ron replied, waggling his eyebrows mischievously.

"And…and…" Hermione sounded scandalized. "I'm in my _pajamas!"_

"Why, so you are," Ron responded innocently before his face split into a devilish grin again.

Hermione stared at Ron, her mouth agape. "I…you…can't believe…" she suddenly burst into laughter, shaking her head. She started pushing Ron towards the door. "Oh, get out of my room you…" she paused to think of an appropriate insult.

"Handsome devil?" Ron suggested helpfully, his hat toppling off his head.

Hermione shook her head again, still laughing. "Go!" she insisted, pushing him out the door. She hastily shut it behind him.

"And a Happy Christmas to you too!" Ron called cheerfully from the hall, his voice muffled by the heavy oak door. 

Hermione rolled her eyes, though she couldn't stop a grin from slowly spreading across her face. She threw open her door, chucked Ron's hat at him, and closed it. With a small chuckle, she leaned back against the door, just then noticing the messily wrapped present in her hands.

"Oh, this should be rich," Hermione murmured to herself, tearing off the wrapping paper. A long, rectangular box greeted her. Wrinkling her forehead, Hermione slowly opened it. She gasped softly in surprise.

It was a very familiar, delicate, silver necklace. Ron had given it to her for Christmas in their - Hermione furrowed her eyebrows, thinking back - sixth year. She remembered Harry teasing Ron about it; he kept pointing out that Ron had only gotten him a few cheap jokes from Zonko's, and had spent all his Christmas money on Hermione. Stubbornly, Hermione had insisted Ron take it back, determinedly stating that she couldn't accept such an expensive gift. She remembered that the hot-tempered boy had seemed angry at the time because of it. She now realized that he had probably been more hurt than angry; Ron must have thought that the rejected gift also meant rejection of a different sort from her.

She pulled the dainty chain out of the box, sighing as it slowly revolved, reflecting the sunlight that streamed through her window. Hastily, Hermione put the necklace back in the box and shoved it into a drawer in her nightstand.

Shaking her head, Hermione headed for the washroom to brush her teeth. She nearly tripped over another brightly coloured package, which had been lying at the foot of her bed. A glimpse of the card told Hermione it was from Charles.

_Well, at least I know he's not still angry with me, Hermione thought wryly as she removed diamond earrings and a bracelet to match from a mess of wrapping paper and jewelry boxes. For some reason, she felt slightly relieved at first that Charles wasn't angry with her any longer. This feeling of muddled euphoria was soon overridden by mild panic as she realized that, in such case, a diamond ring could be next. Feeling frustrated about her conflicting emotions, Hermione glanced back at the drawer where she'd stuffed Ron's gift. His necklace paled in comparison to Charles' dazzling presents. Still, moments later, Charles' Christmas present had joined Ron's in the drawer._

_When will men learn that jewelry is both over-priced and impractical? Hermione scoffed to herself. _They should've gotten me a nice book.__

***

"So I told the kid, 'don't even think about it', and the kid goes, 'what are you gonna do, turn me into a toad?' He's a Muggle-born, right, so he's kind of slow when it comes to turning people into toads and such…no offense…"

"None taken," Hermione responded wryly.

Ron was happily recounting a recent lesson to Hermione as they walked down the nearly empty corridors of Hogwarts castle. Christmas meant that most students had gone home to indulge in presents and turkey and pudding and such, while a few select members of the staff were left to tend to an empty, extremely chilly castle. Ron's chatter bounced off the cold stone walls, echoing through the vacant school. With nearly all of the students and half of her co-workers gone, and Charles busy with the yearly Christmas frenzy at the Ministry, Hermione had taken to spending time with Ron quite a lot in the past two weeks. They'd both spent a good portion of their free time literally tearing the library apart haphazardly, but to no avail – they still had no information on Alonso Drago. However, some information on Gerald Dumfart had turned up. It turned out that, sadly, he had passed away. Ron had pretended to mourn for days.

On a more serious note, Hermione still hadn't said anything about Ron's gift, and so far, Ron was feigning obliviousness to it.

"So I give him this glare, and he starts looking scared, and then…" Ron paused for dramatic effect, and then stopped in front of a massive oak door leading to the grounds. He leaned against it, looking superior. "I turned him into a toad."

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed. "You can't just go around turning students into toads!"

"I changed him back…"

Hermione made disapproving noises and shook her head.

Ron hung his head in pretend shame. "Forgive me."

Tucking a strand of curly brown hair behind her ear, Hermione laughed and grinned at Ron. "You're forgiv - "

A shrill, piercing scream, coming from outside, abruptly interrupted her. Hermione and Ron both froze, exchanging glances. As if they both shared a brain, the two flung open the door and started running towards the source of the blood-curdling noise.

The pair burst out onto the snow-covered grounds, robes billowing out behind them and snow pelting down on them. They ran for the greenhouses, where the scream had come from. The only greenhouse that was used during the winter months was number two, so naturally the two professors ran through the snowstorm to that one. Panting, Hermione flung open the greenhouse doors, her breath freezing in the ice cold air. She and Ron ran into the warmth of the greenhouse, cold air rushing in after them, and headed for the sound of sobbing, which had replaced the screams. They both slowed to a stop as they came upon a gruesome sight.

Before them were a dozen potted Mandrakes, all brutally and disgustingly slashed apart. A thick, green liquid was slowly oozing out of the dead Mandrakes, splashing onto the floor from their wounds.

Hermione stood frozen in shock and disgust, trying to mentally register the scene before her. Glancing to the right, Ron discovered the source of the sobbing. A shaken Professor Willows had her tightly wrapped around herself. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her face was pale.

"Who…who would…" she managed to say hoarsely before succumbing to dry sobs yet again. The tall, willowy professor started rocking back and forth. Ron quickly went over to make sure that she was all right. Professor Willows was often far too sensitive for her own good, and her plants meant a lot to her. To brutally destroy her Mandrakes was almost as good as brutally attacking Professor Willows herself. The scene did look as if someone was trying to convey a vicious message to Kathleen Willows. But Hermione knew better. Someone had destroyed the Mandrakes for another reason.

Shakily, she crossed over to Professor Willows and put an arm around her upset colleague, while Ron stepped away. He folded his arms and surveyed the scene, shaking his head.

"Someone really doesn't want those kids to wake up," he murmured.

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Gotta love those cliffhangers. Good for the body, good for the soul.


	10. Through Truths Untold

**Author's Notes: There were some serious POV problems that needed rectifying in this chapter. And so, I rectified them. Go rectifying.**

You know what's so much better than doing schoolwork?

Doing this.

^_^

***

"What happened?"

"Who's crying?"

"I think it's Granger."

"No, you idiot, it's Willows…"

"Did somebody die?"

"Bollocks, Dumbledore finally kicked the bucket, didn't he?"

"Don't _say things like that!"_

"What's going on?!"

As soon as Peeves had heard of the chaos and carnage in the greenhouse, he'd wasted no time in gleefully spreading the news around the nearly-empty castle. The small group of students who had decided to remain at Hogwarts over the holidays had immediately run out to the greenhouses, thankful for a distraction from their post-Christmas boredom. The nosy band of students were now clustered outside the doors of Greenhouse Number Two, pushing and jostling each other to get a glimpse of the gruesome sight Peeves had alluded to.

The students' interested chattering abruptly died away as Professor Drago made an appearance at the doors of the greenhouse. "Go back to your common rooms," she said shortly.

"I can't," one of the first-year students confessed, blushing. "I forget where mine is."

Drago stared at the kid, shaking her head, and then sighed heavily. She briskly walked out of the greenhouse, the older students disappointedly dispersing in the general direction of their common rooms, and the first year tagging along at Diana's heels.

***

Inside the greenhouses, as Hermione and Professor Flitwick attempted to console a continuously sobbing Professor Willows, Albus Dumbledore stood beside Minerva McGonagall, staring at the slaughtered Mandrakes. McGonagall finally looked away, the dignified witch making a quiet, but unmistakable, gagging sound.

Ron Weasley could hardly blame her. As an Auror, he had seen some gruesome sights; but somehow, here at Hogwarts, the carnage was much more striking, even if the victims were only plants. He stood, with his arms folded tightly across his chest, in the corner of the greenhouse, watching Dumbledore. The headmaster continued to stare at the grim sight of the slaughtered Mandrakes, his blue eyes blank and hollow. Soundlessly, he turned around and began to walk out of the greenhouse, moving gracefully despite his age and current feeble condition.

"Headmaster?" Professor McGonagall inquired. Ron watched as the fragile form of Dumbledore began to shake slightly as he continued sweeping away. Then the headmaster abruptly stopped, as if a decision had just been made in his mind.

"Staff room. All of you. As soon as possible," he told all of them as he whirled around, his eyes ablaze. "This is no longer a game."

With that, he stalked out of the greenhouse. The staff members gathered together there stood in stunned silence for a few moments. Even Professor Willows' wails momentarily stopped. Then a soft whimper escaped from her, breaking the hush that had fallen over them, and the teaching staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry broke into confused and alarmed conversation. 

The veins in Ron's neck began working overtime as he fought to control his fury at what had just happened. He'd failed Dumbledore. His mission had been to get rid of the threat against his former headmaster without causing panic within the school. Yet he could not even perform that simple task – first, students had been hospitalized, and now, their only hopes of revival had just been savagely destroyed. From Dumbledore's little speech, it seemed that soon enough, chaos would break loose at Hogwarts. He was going to tell everyone about the note, about the lunatic, and about Ron's failure.

Ron's fierce gaze swept the greenhouse. His eyes roamed the scene for dark hair against a porcelain complexion, and then blazed with rage as he noticed she was not there.

"All right!" he roared suddenly, causing poor Professor Flitwick to nearly have a heart attack. "Where is she?!"

"Er…who?" Professor Roberts, the young Muggle Studies teacher, asked in confusion.

"_Drago!" Ron shouted. "I wonder where she is, eh? Probably hiding in the castle with - "_

"Ron!" Hermione hissed, rising from her knees abruptly, her hair flying.

" - a bloody knife and laughing at us all for being so stupid!" Ron finished, heedless of Hermione's warning tone. Everyone else looked puzzled. "Don't you _see?_ Those kids, the Mandrakes, Dumbledore! _She's_ responsible!" Ron yelled wildly, losing all control. "Her father - "

"Ron!" Hermione shouted. He finally stopped ranting, clenching his fists until his knuckles turned white.

"Professor Weasley!" McGonagall exclaimed, looking frazzled and confused. "Explain yourself!"

Hermione frantically glanced at Ron as an expectant silence enveloped the greenhouse. Ron suddenly felt weary, as if tired out from his raving frenzy.

All eyes were on him and Hermione, as if the other teachers finally sensed that the two of them knew something the rest of them did not.

"Well," Hermione finally said, her cheeks flushed as both she and Ron deliberately ignored Professor McGonagall's demand for an explanation. "We should…go…to the staff room."

A few nods, a few grunts, a few whispers, and a sniffle from Professor Willows were the reply she received. The ghostly figure of Professor Binns slowly floated through the glass panes of the greenhouse walls, and emerged on the other side, heading towards the staff room. Murmuring amongst themselves, the rest of the staff followed suit, casting furtive glances at Hermione and Ron every now and then.

Blood boiling, Ron stomped out of the greenhouses, Hermione at his heels.

***

Dumbledore's conclusive words had been painfully final, though confusing and unexpected for the rest of the teachers. _This is no longer a game._ Desperately, Hermione tried to ignore the fact that for the first time in her career, Hogwarts would be going into high-security, high-alert mode. She was no stranger to it, but she had always been on the other end when this happened. She had always been the one blindly putting her trust in the all-powerful teachers to keep her safe from whatever evil lurked in the school, whether it had been the horrific warnings linked to the Chamber of Secrets, or the false threat of Sirius Black. Now Hermione - Professor Granger – was the one who had to be the all-powerful teacher.

As the teachers filed into the staff room, with its mismatched armchairs and couches of a multitude of colours, Hermione had never felt more powerless. The teachers wordlessly took their seats and looked to Dumbledore, who was grimly staring out at them all. The heavy, expectant silence rang in Hermione's ears.

"This school is no longer safe."

Dumbledore's opening words shattered the potent silence in the staff room. Immediately, a wave of nervous whisperings, punctuated by a few gasps, filled the room. Dumbledore held up his hand for silence, leaning heavily on his cane. Hermione saw Ron dig his fingernails into the arm of his chair.

"As many of you have most likely suspected, the two injured students in Madam Pomfrey's care - Mr. Ramone and Mr. White - were the victims of an attack." Dumbledore's tone was painfully blunt. His eyes swept over the members of his staff, but they seemed dull, lacking their usual brightness or twinkle. "They were Petrified by a deranged individual, whose existence I know of only through a menacing letter he or she wrote, threatening my life - "

At this, the temporary, uneasy quiet of the room was broken by a muffled gasp on McGonagall's part. Obviously, the Deputy Headmistress had not suspected anything to be amiss at Hogwarts. She, like the others, had always steadfastly trusted in Dumbledore to ever tell her if anything was awry. The look in her eyes was one of disbelief and betrayal.

"Albus - " she began incredulously.

"I am most sorry, Minerva," Dumbledore said sincerely. "As a foolish precaution I told only those who absolutely needed to know about this threat, in favour of keeping a panic-free environment at this school." The headmaster cleared his throat and briefly closed his eyes. "It has often been a weakness of mine to keep those I care about in the dark, in favour of keeping them content, and consequently, oblivious. This was a senseless decision on my part."

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip. Never before had she heard the headmaster admit weakness. It was a lesson that she had to learn - Albus Dumbledore made mistakes, that he was human despite his powerfulness.

A quick glance in Ron's direction revealed that her old friend definitely did not agree with Dumbledore's decision to inform the staff. The look on his face was one of complete frustration and anger. Professor Granger's first reaction was to be exasperated with the Auror. This was no longer Ron's personal little Sherlock Holmes adventure or a chance to impress Hermione. The safety of the students was at stake.

But then, quite suddenly, Hermione felt a swell of pity for him. Ron was frustrated and angry with _himself, not anyone else. He'd come to the school to do a job, and had failed not only Dumbledore, but the students as well. He was supposed to have kept both parties safe._

As alarmed questions were fired at Dumbledore from every direction, Hermione found herself reaching out to him. To her own surprise, she shakily placed her cool hand on Ron's warm, dry one. He looked up at her in surprise, and Hermione gave him a small smile of reassurance. Ron half-smiled back, and then turned to listen to Dumbledore, though he slowly intertwined his fingers with Hermione's. Both professors felt slightly comforted as Dumbledore explained the even more severe security precautions that would have to be observed once the students returned from Christmas holiday.

"The students, of course, will also have to be informed that we have a potential former Death Eater lurking about," Dumbledore finished. "I will not insult their intelligences as well by pretending that the extra security around the castle is not without reason."

With that concluding statement, his face lost its determined, authoritative look, and suddenly Dumbledore was a weary, tired human being who was struggling in a battle with age again. "Now get a good night's rest, all of you. We have much to do tomorrow."

The teachers rose, whispering amongst themselves. Hermione's hand immediately flew out of Ron's, as if she had just realized it was there. She stood up with the rest of her colleagues, trying to ignore the warmth rushing to her cheeks. Ron silently followed suit and the two of them followed their co-workers out of the staff room. Hermione's hand was tingling where Ron's warm fingers had intertwined with hers.

As the staff room door slowly began to swing shut behind her, Hermione heard Dumbledore and McGonagall begin talking quietly, attempting to repair the shattered trust between them.

***

The students, all of them well-rested and good humoured after the Christmas holidays, returned to Hogwarts only to find a nervous, troubled staff, extra spells guarding the castle (a group of sixth-years found this out the hard way after trying to sneak out of bed their first night back), and that classes on their first morning back had been cancelled in order to hold an emergency assembly in the Great Hall. Emotions ranging from perplexed, to apprehensive, to curious, to confused; the student population of Hogwarts filed into the Great Hall Monday morning and silently took their seats at their respective house tables.

Dumbledore was extremely straightforward with them. His speech was blunt and grim, devoid of the wry humour he customarily used when addressing the students. The headmaster told them everything: from the threatening letter, to what had really happened to Paul and Roger.

At more than one point, the students broke into alarmed chatter or gasped in shock. One Hufflepuff girl even fainted when Dumbledore mentioned Voldemort's name when he spoke of the Death Eater who was likely behind the attacks on Paul and Roger and the threats. But when it was all over, the silence was deafening.

"A strict curfew will be observed," Dumbledore warned, breaking the absolute quiet. "Any student not in their common room by eight o'clock will be endangering themselves and others, and will be severely punished. The same goes for walking to classes or on the grounds without a teacher. And I'm afraid Quidditch matches will have to be cancelled."

"_What?" exclaimed Oliver Wood, the flying teacher. He was still Hogwarts' biggest Quidditch enthusiast, and would play with the students again in a heartbeat if such a thing was allowed. "Headmaster, you __must reconsider…in this trying time, after all, Quidditch is what bring the school…the students…together…" he faltered._

"I'm afraid, Professor Wood, that Quidditch matches mean Quidditch training sessions. And I will not allow a group of unsupervised students to be flying around the pitch with a deranged individual on the loose," Dumbledore replied coolly. Oliver opened his mouth to protest but then closed it and sat back down, muttering something about 'getting all paranoid over a stupid letter'. McGonagall, who was sitting beside the former Gryffindor captain, gave him a disapproving frown.

"I assure you all that you are under the protection of the finest staff Hogwarts has seen in many, many years. Do not panic. Go to class, socialize with your friends, enjoy the rest of the year. These security precautions are not cause for alarm - rather, they are simply cause for you to be _aware._"

Dumbledore paused. "I apologize for lying to you for these past few months, and beg your forgiveness," he told the student body, seeming to gaze sincerely into the eyes of every single student before him. "Know that I only had your best wishes in mind. You may now return to your dormitories."

Wide-eyed students stared back at the headmaster, unmoving. A few of the Prefects summoned their courage and stood, putting on brave expressions. A handful of the older students followed suit, and slowly the rest of the students all stood, though a few of the younger girls were whimpering and several of the first and second-year boys were whispering loudly amongst themselves.

"Well," Dumbledore said presently to the staff assembled at the Head Table. "I do believe that they handled that as maturely and calmly as was possible. I'm proud of them."

And with that, his eyes rolled into the back of his head, and the headmaster crumpled to the ground.

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Ah, the triumphant return of the cliffhanger. I love it. Except it's not really a cliffhanger, since the next chapter is already up, isn't it?

Damn.


	11. Theories and Suspicions

**Author's Notes: **Here was my shining moment the last time I wrote this:

It has recently come to my attention that, well, I have no notes. I just use this section to say random and sometimes strangely hilarious things. Well, in my opinion anyway.

Yep. Let's hear it for random, nonsensical, pointless Author's Notes. ^_^

***

"You can still hear me, can't you?"

If Albus Dumbledore could, he certainly showed no sign of it. The colourless face of the old Headmaster showed no signs of life; if one were to quickly glance at him, they would assume he had passed away. This time, no amount of shaking or calling his name would wake the feeble wizard. With Dumbledore's heavy lids closed, concealing his sometimes sparkling, usually jovial, and occasionally fierce eyes, it seemed that all of the life had gone from the aged wizard. His skin was ashen and paper-thin. The white pallour of his face strangely paralleled his snowy beard. It flowed over his cream-coloured hospital robes, which clung loosely to the headmaster's frail form. The white sheets of his hospital bed completed the bittersweet illusion of white peacefulness.

Ron Weasley smiled sadly, hands in his robe pockets, staring down at the man who was his former Headmaster, his new boss, and as always, his idol. The ever-growing pile of 'Get Well' cards behind Ron proved that Dumbledore obviously had several hundred other fans as well. One, bewitched to play the headmaster's favourite classical music pieces, provided a calming background as Ron spoke to the inanimate man. He felt no shame in speaking to a person who obviously could not speak back; however, he _had chosen to visit the Headmaster at midnight without Madam Pomfrey's knowledge. He felt no shame in talking to an unconscious person - but talking to an unconscious person in front of a crowd of visiting students was crossing the line._

"They'll be fine, you know," Ron said presently. "The students. The teachers. You don't have to worry. McGonagall…she's taken charge for the moment. And me…and _I_," he corrected himself, briefly noting that he'd been spending a little too much time with Hermione and grinning slightly at the thought, "I won't let anything happen to them. I've even called for reinforcements," the Auror said, smiling wryly.

"Hermione's been in the library every night for the past few weeks," Ron continued, a note of admiration and obvious fondness in his voice as he spoke of his co-worker. "She's sworn not to leave that place until she finds what's wrong with you. Weird symptoms you have, Dumbledore. No fever, but you sweat like crazy. Your heartbeat's regular, but you gasp for breath. I've never seen anything like it before. It's dark magic, or I'll be damned," Ron stated grimly. "Pomfrey still insists you're just sick, and everyone's just accepted that explanation. _I know you're not. You've been cursed. But I rarely let you out of my sight all year, and the castle is so well protected…how did it happen?"_

Ron sighed heavily and summoned a chair to him, falling into it. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you, Professor," Ron muttered in a low voice. He removed his wand from his robes and started absently twirling it around in his fingers, a bad habit he'd developed over the years when he was worried or troubled. "But I swear we'll find out what's wrong with you. And when we do, there'll be hell to pay."

"_Expelliarmus__!" a voice suddenly screamed shrilly, breaking the quiet peacefulness of the hospital wing. Ron yelped loudly, jumping out of his chair and falling to the floor with a loud crash as his wand went flying out of his grasp. Reflexes kicking in, Ron agilely rolled along the floor then flung himself into the air, stretching out his fingers to grab the airborne wand. It barely grazed his fingers before another hand stretched out and neatly snatched the wand out of the air. Ron crashed to the floor again, smashing his chin on the hard, tiled floor of the hospital wing._

Chin throbbing - most likely broken - and eyes burning with anger, Ron slowly stood to face his attacker.

"Pomfrey?!" he exclaimed in disbelief.

"You?!" the hospital matron hollered in surprise. They both stared at each other, blinking; then Madam Pomfrey brought back her open palm and abruptly slapped Ron across the face.

"_Ow__!" Ron whined as she also grabbed hold of the grown man's ear. Though Ron towered over her, Madam Pomfrey managed to drag him out of the hospital wing by the ear, displaying astonishing strength for someone her age and scolding him shrilly the entire time._

"_What d'you think you're doing sneaking into my hospital wing in the middle of the night with your wand out and pointed at the _Headmaster?!_" she reprimanded the young professor loudly. "I have half a mind to report you to Professor McGonagall and get you _fired_, you selfish, half-witted, senseless_, _unthoughtful - "_

"Unthoughtful isn't a word," Ron cut in, again noting that this was a very Hermione-like thing to say. He winced, as his interruption had only made Pomfrey pinch his ear harder.

" - careless, inconsiderate, smart-mouthed little _idiot!" They were now outside the door to the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey released Ron's ear and the tall wizard stumbled away from her, rubbing his stinging ear vigorously. "Now __shoo!" the hospital matron commanded, flinging Ron's wand at him then spinning on her heel and re-entering the hospital wing. She slammed the door with an earsplitting crash. Peeves snickered as he floated by, and opened his translucent mouth to make a comment._

"Shut it, Peeves!" Ron warned. Peeves cackled and flipped upside down, staring at him from between his legs. "Don't you _dare_ say a word," Ron hissed dangerously, turning around and stomping away. The poltergeist's boisterous cackles and sniggers followed him all the way to the library.

***

Professor Granger slammed shut yet another magic medical dictionary. She had found nothing on Dumbledore's current condition. Hermione pushed a strand of frizzy hair out of her eyes; lately, Hermione had been wearing her hair down for some mystifying, probably nostalgic reason, taking the time and patience in the morning to add liberal amounts of magical hair products in a feeble attempt to control it. But after spending a stressful day teaching, and then her entire night in the library looking up every magical ailment known to wizardkind, the potion had definitely worn off. Her hair had once again become bushy and frizzy. With an exasperated sigh, the fatigued professor started to pull her hair into a loose ponytail to get it out of her face.

"No, don't," Ron's voice came from the entrance of the library, cutting through the stifling quiet of the large room. "It looks better down." His words sounded strangely slurred. Hermione let go of her hair, glancing up as it fell to her shoulders again. She squinted; there was something wrong with Ron's face…

"Ron!" Hermione gasped, leaping out of her seat and crossing over to her fellow professor in record time. "What happened to your face?"

"Oh, the places you could've gone with that," Ron said wistfully. "The potential insults…ow!" He winced as Hermione gingerly touched his chin.

"Your jaw's broken!" she exclaimed, suddenly feeling panicked. "How - ?"

"Don't worry," Ron interrupted. "I…slipped and hit my chin on the floor," he said hastily.

"Liar," Hermione retorted, examining his jaw. She suddenly glanced up at him, looking frightened. "It wasn't…"

"Don't _worry," Ron repeated. He made a face, which only caused another burst of pain to shoot through his jaw. "I only lie because the truth hurts," he said solemnly._

"Explain," Hermione demanded, hands on her hips.

Ron sighed. "Pomfrey jumped me in the hospital wing; my wand went flying, I took a dive to grab it, missed, and smashed my chin on the floor. Happy?"

Hermione blinked, and then returned to inspecting Ron's chin. "Sorry I asked."

"_Ow__!" Ron flinched as Hermione peered closer at his jaw, cautiously touching it again. He grabbed her wrist. "Stop doing that. You'll only make it worse," he commanded. It struck both of them at the same time that they were in very close proximity to each other. Hermione automatically took a step backwards. Ron's eyes dropped to the ground, and he rubbed his jaw distractedly._

"At least let me heal it," Hermione insisted bossily after an awkward silence.

Ron opened his mouth to protest, and then decided against it. "Better you than Pomfrey," he shrugged, bravely jutting out his chin, faithful that Hermione would know how to fix it.

"_Corpus reparus," Hermione said clearly, tapping Ron's chin with her wand. Ron made a gruesome face, squeezing his eyes shut as bones in his face shifted and repaired themselves efficiently. After a few moments he ventured to open one eye and stare at his reflection in one of the tall, library windows._

"Bloody hell," Ron commented in amazement, stroking his healed chin. "Would you look at that…"

"Perhaps if you had paid attention in school, you would remember that we learned that one in sixth year," Hermione said, rolling her eyes as she started walking back to her table. The table was sagging under the weight of about a dozen heavy books and several rolls of parchment.

Ron admired his reflection for a moment longer before joining her. "Find anything?" he asked hopefully.

"_Nothing," Hermione responded dejectedly. "And yet…there's something nagging at the back of my mind," she confessed, "like I've seen Dumbledore's symptoms somewhere before…"_

"You probably read it somewhere!" Ron said eagerly. "Think, Hermione…what books have you read in the past seven years?"

Hermione gave a derisive snort. "Actually," she said, more to herself than Ron, "I think I _heard_ it somewhere…" she gave a flustered sigh and sat back in her chair, throwing up her hands in near-defeat.

"Perhaps some of the other teachers would know about this sort of thing," Ron suggested, sitting down next to his weary co-worker.

"I've asked Professor Flitwick, but he says he's never heard of a Charm which causes strange symptoms as well as unconsciousness," Hermione replied, massaging her temples. "And it's not exactly her subject, but Professor McGonagall is very knowledgeable you know, and she couldn't think of anything…even _she keeps saying it must be old age…" she drifted off, deep in thought._

"Wait!" Hermione suddenly shouted excitedly. "Yes…yes…it's a possibility…oh Ron, don't you see?" she exclaimed, clutching Ron's arm, her eyes shining in triumph. "We were thinking he'd been cursed all along, but what if it was a _potion? What if he was…what if he was poisoned?" she asked shakily._

Ron blinked, processing this information and slowly pulling his arm out of Hermione's grasp. He examined the deep fingernail marks on it and raised an eyebrow at her.

"It's definitely possible…" he said slowly, then a strange look lit up his eyes. "Hermione - "

"Potions was never my strongest subject, _but_…" Hermione continued enthusiastically, convinced she was on to something.

"Hermione - " Ron tried again.

"…Diana would know, or I'm sure she has contacts…other Potions Masters, you know, that may have an idea what - "

"Hermione!" Ron finally interrupted. "You're a brilliant witch, and a damn good Arithmancy teacher, but honestly…are you _blind?!"_

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione's eagerness disappeared as quickly as it had come, replaced instead with a look of annoyance at Ron's tone.

Ron sighed in exasperation and started speaking in a slow, long-suffering voice. "You're right, it could be poison…"

"Yes…"

"And then you said it yourself…Drago would know…"

"_Yes…" Hermione was beginning to feel impatient; her sympathy about Ron's injury was the only thing preventing her from snapping at him._

"And _who's suspect number one, Hermione?" Ron asked slowly, giving her a conclusive look. She finally caught on, realization dawning on her face._

"_Oh," Hermione breathed. "But you don't think…" she trailed off, sounding bewildered._

"Yes," Ron answered grimly, "I do."

A sudden, clear mental image of Diana slipping into Dumbledore's office and pouring a vial of red, smoldering potion into the headmaster's goblet at meals popped into Hermione's mind, then disappeared as quickly as it had come. "But Ron, we have no _proof!" she burst out in distress. "I mean, we can't jolly well go around accusing our co-workers of attempted murder, can we?"_

"Don't worry," Ron said soothingly as his friend made a frustrated noise and dejectedly put her bushy head down on the table with an exhausted groan. "Help's on the way," he assured her.

"What's that s'posed to mean?" Hermione asked thickly, her voice muffled by the table.

"Well, when something's amiss at Hogwarts…who you gonna call?" Ron grinned.

"Ghostbusters," Hermione mumbled into the table.

"Eh?" Ron said, wrinkling his forehead and knitting his eyebrows together. "What's that?"

"Nothing..."

Ron stared at her queerly. "I think you should get some sleep," he decided firmly, leaving the subject for the moment. Hermione suddenly felt strong hands pulling her upwards. Hermione considered telling Ron off, but was really too tired to care. She allowed him to pull her out of her chair and then faced her old friend, bleary-eyed and exhausted.

"Don't worry, I'll get the dirt on Drago," Ron promised vehemently. "S'what I do for a living, after all," he said proudly, helping Hermione up. As she followed the Auror out of the library and dragged herself to the staff common room, Hermione was vaguely aware of Ron muttering to himself beside her, occasionally catching tidbits of his conversation with himself. "But when…the opportunity…his food?…when he was sleeping…?"

Murmuring the password absently, Ron eased into the staff room, followed by Hermione, who was made clumsy by fatigue. She practically fell into her colleague as she clambered into the entrance, a small opening behind a suit of armour on the fourth floor.

"Thanks Ron," Hermione mumbled in a sleepy sort of way as they stopped in front of the fireplace, "for everything."

Ron looked quite puzzled at what she was thanking him for. In fact, Hermione herself wasn't quite sure what she was specifically thanking for either. But she knew that she meant it, and obviously Ron did too, because he gave her a deep, genuine smile.

"I'm your friend, Hermione," he said, and Hermione noted that his voice had suddenly dropped about an octave and sounded a bit husky. "I'd do anything for Dumbledore, and for…for you." His eyes dropped to the ground again, and the tips of his ears glowed red in the firelight.

Hermione watched him closely. It was amazing how Ron could waltz around the castle all day, seeming to be cocky and self-assured, yet in the most serious and sincere situations he was transformed back into the gangly, awkward teenager she had known at Hogwarts. Somewhere in the back of Hermione's debilitated mind she registered the word 'friend', and she marveled at how close she and the man she had sworn to avoid this year had become. It had been bound to happen, really; she and Ron had always been closest in times of crisis, and so far this turbulent year had been no exception. 

Hermione made a sudden movement forward, possessed by an impulsive urge to hug him, but then thought better of it. She stepped backwards and whispered a quick "Good night", then hauled herself up the stairs, down the long corridor of teachers' chambers, and finally entered her bedroom. Through her door, she heard the muffled sounds of a door opening and closing, and assumed that Ron had followed and entered his own bedroom down the hall. Hermione quickly changed into a nightgown, still wondering when exactly she had let her guard down and allowed Ron to get close to her again. Her mind suddenly active and awake, Hermione climbed into bed, still contemplating her relationship with Ron, her relationship with Charles, and how her well-thought out plan to live a safe, quiet little life at Hogwarts had gone down the drain…

_Honestly, Hermione, a little voice in her head said crossly, __you always make things so complicated._

"You're right," Hermione said out loud, stifling a yawn. And with that, she drifted off to sleep, feeling surprisingly satisfied with herself.

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I can't get no…sat-is-faction…

Ahem. Review!


	12. By the Light of the Moon

**Author's Notes: **This is probably the chapter that I changed the most. I completely re-wrote the entire night-Voldemort-was-defeated-and-Snape-died-dream, and I have to say that I like this version much better. If you don't, hey, that's okay. That's what reviews are for: slandering and the like. Yay!

_***_

_The Gryffindor common room was empty and dimly-lit; the flames of several of the torches had already been snuffed out, and though the fire was still flickering weakly, it too seemed on the brink of dying._

_It was well past __midnight__ and most of the students were fast asleep - troubled, perhaps, with anxieties about their upcoming graduation, or the results of their N.E.W.T's, which the entire class had taken recently. It was unlikely that they were dwelling on the same thing that Hermione Granger was as she sat alone in the common room. The other students had seen, if not properly heard, what had happened that night during dinner, and afterwards the school had been buzzing with rumours about it. Hermione doubted any of them took it seriously, however. She doubted that any of them realized what was going to happen that night._

_Hermione felt extremely cold, despite the weak fire, and her hands were shaking so badly that she had taken to gripping the arms of the chair she was sitting in. She watched the portrait hole in fearful apprehension, trembling and sick with worry._

_She let out the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding as the portrait hole swung open, and then was closed again by an invisible force. There was a moment of silence, and then a long-legged, red-haired, seventeen-year-old materialised before Hermione's eyes, followed by a tall, rather skinny boy with untidy black hair. Hermione stood up jerkily and rushed over to her two best friends, biting her lip so hard that she tasted blood._

_"Well?" she whispered as they tossed aside the invisibility cloak. The rather small, silvery cloak had long ago become inadequate to cover all three of the growing teenagers; at most it would cover two of them. On this particular night, Harry and Ron had been the ones given the task of discovering what was happening outside of the common room, while Hermione had had to wait impatiently there for their return. But she had not protested; Hermione had not dared argue with Harry after seeing the look in his eyes, and Ron had nearly gone ballistic when she had suggested that she should be the one to accompany Harry._

_"He's gone," Harry confirmed in a very hoarse voice. He was not trembling like Hermione, but his face was ashen and he seemed to be standing more rigidly than usual. Ron, however, looked as if he was going to be sick - even his freckles were pale. But he too stood straight-backed, and seemed to be trying to put on the same brave face Harry was wearing. "Dumbledore's gone, and the rest of the teachers were splitting up to guard the entrances, and…I think they're coming to guard the common room as well." Harry glanced over at the window. "The moon's out," he noted emotionlessly._

_Hermione inhaled sharply. "Why…why is…Dumbledore…"_

_"I think he wants to be out there," Ron murmured in a low voice, "outside, that is, if…if You-Know-Who," he winced slightly, "tries to force his way in at the gates."_

_Hermione had started to rock back and forth on the balls of her heels, and she wrapped her arms around herself. Ron reached out a hand to stop her from rocking, and he kept the hand around Hermione's arm, holding on to her tightly. Harry did not move; he seemed to be lost in thought._

_"Harry, we have to stay here," Hermione whimpered, "you heard Dumbledore, we have to stay here…you can't go looking for him…if it really will happen tonight…please, Harry, don't go looking for him…"_

_Harry did not answer; he only stared forward grimly, his jaw set, and Hermione's heart sank. She knew, from the look in his eyes, that nothing she said would stop Harry from doing something foolish tonight._

_It had begun with a prediction that evening from the most unlikely person – Professor Trelawney. Like a zombie, slack-jawed and with vacant eyes, she had wandered into the Great Hall during tea and had begun speaking in a loud, harsh voice that was not her own. At first, her words had been rapid and unintelligible, even though the crowd in the Hall had fallen completely silent as she slowly walked down the aisles between the House Tables towards Harry. But as she drew closer and closer to Harry, her voice lowered to a whisper, and her words had been crystal clear._

_"It will all end tonight, by the light of the moon. The Dark Lord will seek the Boy Who Lived, and two deaths will end the war. It will all end here, tonight, by the light of the moon…"_

_Trelawney's words echoed in Hermione's head, and she began to tremble more violently. Only she, Harry, and Ron had properly heard what Trelawney had said before she had collapsed, and it was they who had recounted the prediction to an extremely grave-looking Dumbledore immediately afterwards. As night had fallen, all students had been banished to their common rooms. Refusing to just sit there and wait for Voldemort to show up at the castle, Harry had been the one to grab the invisibility cloak with the idea of going  to see what the teachers and Dumbledore were doing to prepare._

_ "Harry, don't you see?" Hermione choked out. "If you go, you'll both d-die…you and…and Him…"_

_"But it will all end," Harry reminded her grimly, "the war will be over." And without another word, he spun around and disappeared up the staircase to the boys' dormitories._

_A pale Ron turned to look at Hermione, bewildered. "Where's he – "_

_But the next second he was cut off as Hermione flung her arms around his neck and clung to him, quivering violently. Ron hugged her back, holding her tightly to him, his body shaking as well._

_"It's okay…the teachers…they won't let anything happen," Ron said in a broken voice. He did not sound remotely convincing._

_"Harry can't – he won't," she whispered, her breath hitching._

_"He will," Ron muttered despondently._

_ They were both silent for a few seconds, clinging to each other. Then Ron quite abruptly broke away from Hermione, his eyes blazing with sudden determination. "But I'll be damned if he does it alone. We're going with him this time."_

_Hermione at first could only stare at him, but then she found herself slowly nodding, feeling determination flood through her as well. "Right…he…he's not going to do it alone…"_

_"Hermione," Ron said with sudden hastiness. He gripped her shoulders and stared at her with the most burning, urgent look he had ever given her. "Hermione, I just…if we do…I want…want you to know – "_

_Without any warning, Ron fervently pressed his lips to Hermione's, and then broke away just as quickly. "That," he said breathlessly as Hermione stared at him, astounded. His pale face was suddenly very flushed. "I just want you to know…that."_

_"I'm going," came Harry's emotionless voice from the stairs. Hermione and Ron whirled around to see him standing there, Firebolt in hand. "I'm going down to the gates, if that's where Dumbledore is. I'm not letting him wait there for Voldemort while I sit up here. I'll fly down."_

_"Harry, you're not going alone," Hermione said firmly, though her head was reeling after what had just happened. To her surprise, however, her voice sounded clear and determined._

_"We're coming with you this time, mate," echoed Ron resolutely, putting a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "This time we'll…we'll face him…together."_

_Harry looked as if he was going to protest, but quite suddenly he let out an agonized yell of pain and clapped his hands to his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. Alarmed, Hermione and Ron both rushed to his side as he continued to cry out in pain._

_"He's – here," Harry managed to get out between clenched teeth, clawing at his scar._

_"Here? In the castle?" Ron had gone extremely pale again. "But…how, that's impossible – "_

_"Rules don't matter to him," said Harry hoarsely, straightening as the pain in his scar seemed to subside. His eyes watered, however, and his fists were clenched. "He'll have found a way…"_

_Hermione did not even remember pulling out her wand. "Where, Harry?" she demanded. She was still trembling, but her eyes were narrowed and her jaw was set. She and Ron had made their decision, and there was no turning back now._

_"Dungeons," Harry said through gritted teeth. He eyed both Ron's and Hermione's drawn wands, but even he seemed to know that there was no use in protesting or arguing. They were determined to come with him. "If we hurry, we can make it there before the teachers come up here to guard the portrait hole."_

_"Should we take the cloak?" Ron asked quietly._

_"There's no point," Harry answered, shaking his head and wincing slightly again, as if his scar hurt when he moved his head._

_"Then…then let's go," Hermione said in a small voice. "Together."_

Professor Granger bolted upright in bed, her eyes flying open and her heart pounding against her ribs. She felt sweat trickling down her forehead; it had soaked her nightdress and her bed sheets. Hermione shivered, thankful that something had awoken her. The second half of her recurring dream was always the most disturbing part…his dying shrieks…and the smell…

Taking deep, calming breaths, Hermione swung her legs over the edge of her bed, feeling her nightdress stick to her flushed, heated skin. Slowly she walked to her bathroom to pour herself a drink of water.  As her parched, dry throat gratefully greeted the cool liquid, Hermione glanced at her wand, lying by her bedside table; it would have been easier just to conjure up a glass of water while still in bed, but somehow the familiar, Muggle routine was comforting to the young witch.

Her heart having slowed, Hermione strode back to her bed, now feeling wide awake. The nightmare came often; it was nothing new to Hermione, but she felt disturbed by its presence just the same.

Trelawney's prediction had been right; there _had been two deaths that night. But contrary to what Hermione had thought, the two deaths in question had not been Harry's and Lord Voldemort's – it had been _Snape's_ and Lord Voldemort's. Snape's sacrifice had not been out of love, like Harry's mother's had been, but because of the hate that Snape had always harboured for Harry, and his father, the sacrifice had been extremely powerful in a different way. Snape had put aside his personal feelings and had done what was right. And, true to Trelawney's word, the war had ended that night._

Hermione had made a choice to help Harry, and because of that she had witnessed the war's gruesome end, the destruction of Lord Voldemort. In fact, she had participated in it. There had been countless times over the past several years, usually when she awoke from a nightmare, that Hermione had wished that she had not gone with Harry and Ron that night. But this time, for some reason, she was suddenly very glad that she had.

Hermione sighed heavily. She had not had the dream in a long time, perhaps because she had been so exhausted most nights that she had immediately sunk into a deep, dreamless sleep, or perhaps because she had, as Ron had so eloquently put it, 'gotten over it.' Hermione realized that the last several months had been an endless exercise in conquering her fear of Voldemort returning, and of getting over what had occurred seven years ago in the dungeons. From allowing Ron back into her life, to sifting through endless books on the Dark Lord to complete their 'suspect list', Hermione had repeatedly braved her greatest fears. 

But then what had caused her to have the nightmare tonight?

Agreeing with herself again that she thought too much, Hermione settled down to return to sleep, surprised at how cool and collected she had remained after the nightmare. This was probably because she had not experienced the worst part - she had been awakened before she could re-live them crying out those two words…

Hermione bolted upright with a start. What _had awoken her? She was such a deep sleeper that she rarely woke up in the middle of the night without a reason._

A faint scuffling sound, coming from the hall outside her room, suddenly met Hermione's attentive ears. Her eyes widened in fear, and her heart began to speed up again. Trembling slightly, Hermione slipped out of bed yet again and snatched her wand off the bedside table. Summoning her courage, she crept to the door of her bedroom and listened carefully.

There it was again - the unmistakable sound of someone creeping around in the corridor. Hermione glanced at the watch on her wrist, which she rarely removed, even to sleep. It was nearly four o'clock in the morning. She pressed her ear against the door, still listening intently. The young professor almost dismissed the sound as one of the staff members going to get a late-night snack – Arden Roberts often did, after all. But then Hermione quickly warned herself that one could never be too cautious, especially now.

  
Hermione briefly considered getting Ron, or perhaps Professor McGonagall - but she soon realized that she couldn't very well leave to go get them with the suspicious character in question stalking around right outside her bedroom door. The sounds were getting fainter; whoever was moving around was most likely proceeding down the corridor, their back to Hermione's room.

Fingering her wand, and drawing a deep breath, Hermione made a quick decision. It was now or never; at least right now she would have the element of surprise. Praying that it was indeed Professor Roberts out to get a midnight snack, Hermione threw open the door and pointed her wand at a shadowy figure's back, suddenly feeling very foolish standing there in her white nightdress.

"Don't…" Hermione breathed, gripping her wand tightly, "…move."

The figure froze, their body going rigid. Confident that she had him or her right where she wanted them, Hermione took a tentative step forward. Then, in an unexpected and splendid display of agility and speed, the mysterious stranger twisted to face her and drew their wand, all in the same fluid movement.

"_Petrificus__ totalus!" a deep male voice hollered at the same time that Hermione shrieked, "_Arettementa___!"_

Hermione's reflexes kicked in far faster than her brain did, and she jumped to the side to avoid getting hit by the blinding jet of green light that had erupted from the stranger's wand. Similarly, the intruder dropped to the ground and rolled forwards in order to avoid the blue blast that had burst forth from Hermione's wand.

Breathless, the two of them faced each other. Hermione was seeing stars; the emerald light had nearly blinded her. As she blinked a few times to clear her vision, the stranger spoke.

"Ah," the male voice said, now sounding strangely familiar. A hint of amusement was in his voice. "Should've known it was you. Who else uses _Arettementa_?_"_

  
The voice resounded in Hermione's ears. Suddenly, a voice from her nightmare echoed in her head. It was eerily similar to the one which had just hollered a curse that could have frozen her body. 

_"But it will all end…the war will be over…"_

As if on cue, the moon burst through a cluster of clouds, and moonlight suddenly flooded the corridor through the windows lining it. Hermione's eyes raked the stranger's features, now illuminated by the moonlight. She noted untidy black hair, green eyes, and a smooth, boyish face, marred only by a long, nasty-looking scar beneath his left eye. Black stubble was growing on his chin, and he wore an impish grin. To match the scar beneath his eye was the infamous, lightning-bolt shaped one on his forehead.

"Oh…oh my…" Hermione whispered, her eyes widening in recognition. She dropped her wand in shock. "_Harry!" she shrieked, flinging herself at her old friend and nearly knocking him down in the process. "What are you doing here?! What are you doing here at four in the morning?! What are you doing here at four in the morning creeping around the staff bedrooms?!" _

Hermione said all of this in one breath, and then suddenly narrowed her eyes and pulled away, examining the stubble on Harry's chin. "What is _that_ supposed to be?" she asked darkly.

Harry Potter's face broke into yet another grin as he stroked his chin. "Facial hair, last time I checked," he responded with a grin.

Hermione stared in amazement at the grinning man before her. Physically, he was still recognizable as the skinny teenager from her dream, although he had filled out quite a bit and was rather broader in the shoulders. Yet there was something very different about him. With a start, Hermione realized that it was his attitude. Gone was the troubled boy who had emotionlessly decided that he was going to risk his life on the chance that Trelawney's prediction was right that fateful night seven years ago. Compared to in her nightmare, Harry looked strong, healthy, refreshed, and…happy. Hermione felt a sudden pang of guilt and shame. Harry, who had gone through _much more than Hermione, had managed to put his dark and troubled final years at Hogwarts behind him. Harry, who had faced Voldemort on numerous occasions, barely escaping with his life each time. Harry, who was an Auror, and still pursued Dark wizards, still fighting for good despite all he had done already. The wave of guilt that came crashing down on Hermione nearly made her sick._

Harry was now looking Hermione up and down. "Wow, Hermione, you look…" he searched for a word, his eyes passing from Hermione's tousled hair (which looked bushier than usual, seeing as she had been tossing and turning in her bed for the past few hours), to her white nightdress (the right strap of it had slid down her shoulder when she had dodged the spell, and the nightgown now hung quite awkwardly on her), to her fuzzy pink slippers (a Christmas gift from Dumbledore, which she had grown rather fond of, though she would never admit it).

"Different…?" Harry finished, smiling.

Hermione found that she didn't care that she looked a mess. She was overcome with relief and happiness at finding her old friend alive and in one piece after all these years. The followers of Voldemort who would give anything to see him suffer a particularly painful death were many. Regret and guilt once again washed over her.

"Why did you try to curse me?" Hermione demanded, trying to ignore these feelings.

"I thought you were Ron's loony."

"I thought _you_ were the loony!"

"It was the beard, wasn't it?"

"_Harry_…"

"I'm trying to grow a goatee, what d'you think?"

"What the _bloody_ hell is going on out - " Ron Weasley's exhausted, annoyed voice cut in. He entered the corridor wearing a house-robe, and looked from Harry to Hermione, blinking. "Oh…hullo. 'Bout time you got here," Ron said casually to his partner.

"Enjoying your nice cushy teaching job while I have to run around picking up the slack?" Harry asked lightly, folding his arms.

"Why yes, I am," Ron responded coldly.

The two Aurors carefully regarded one another for a few seconds while Hermione anxiously looked on, and then simultaneously laughed. The two punched each other on the shoulder affectionately. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Boys," she murmured under her breath as the two of them chatted away. Nevertheless, her face abruptly broke into a bright smile as she shook her head at the two Aurors.

"Well, you got a far nicer greeting than I did," Ron told Harry matter-of-factly, grinning at Hermione.

Harry snorted. "And _you _told me she'd become a stuck-up McGonagall wannabe," he said with a laugh. Ron abruptly went red as Hermione slowly turned to glare at him.

"Thanks, Ronald," she said sarcastically.

"Well, it was true," Ron said simply and truthfully. Now Hermione was the one who felt her face burn. "But to hell with it," he added, shrugging, "all three of us are back together now, that's all that matters. Group hug!"

Harry and Ron were never really the types for signs of affection, yet they all seemed to suddenly be in a very silly, giddy mood. Hermione shrieked as the two tall, athletic men sandwiched her between them in a bone-crushing hug. "You're crushing me!" Hermione gasped out, unable to contain a small giggle as they let her go. 

"Excuse me," interrupted an icy voice, which could have only belonged to Minerva McGonagall. All three adults froze, feeling as if they were disobedient students who had just been caught out of bed. "I was not aware that there was a staff pajama party tonight - " she abruptly stopped talking as she rounded the corner. Harry gave her a weak smile.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall said in surprise. "I…I didn't know you were…" her eyes traveled from Professor Weasley, to Professor Granger, and then back to Harry. All three of them were threatening to burst into huge grins at any moment.

The usually strict Transfiguration professor's eyes suddenly looked rather misty. "Well," she said presently, clearing her throat, "welcome back, Mr. Potter." With that, she hastily walked back down the corridor, towards her own chambers. As she disappeared into a door down the hall, the trio distinctly heard her sniffle loudly before the door snapped shut.

"Ah, McGonagall's just an old softie at heart," Ron said smugly. Harry barely contained a snort, and Hermione couldn't help but grin.

"Well, it is pretty late," Harry admitted, noticeably lowering his voice lest a not-so-soft McGonagall returned. "I didn't want to disturb anyone, but I Apparated here as soon as I could – "

"You can Apparate into Hogwarts?" interrupted Hermione, aghast.

"Auror's privileges," Harry explained simply.

Ron took one look at Hermione's flabbergasted face and snorted. "Guess that wasn't in _Hogwarts: A History_, eh Hermione?"

"Anyway, I was skulking about up here because I needed to find Ron so that he could get me a place to sleep - " Harry continued.

"Harry, wait," Hermione interrupted quietly, placing a hand on his arm. She seemed to have just really realized that Harry was, in fact, really there, and that this was not just some absurd continuation of her dream. "Why _did_ you come? I thought you were in Canada?"

"I was," Harry replied shortly. Hermione was wise enough to not pursue the subject further after that. "And I came because…well, Ron owled me about Dumbledore – " Harry's face suddenly went very pale, " - and…I hurried over here, just in case he…" Harry trailed off, suddenly very interested in the wall behind Ron.

Hermione swallowed painfully and nodded. Her bottom lip started trembling and she quite unexpectedly burst into tears.

"Oh no, Hermione, don't cry…" Ron said, a note of panic in his voice as he awkwardly patted her on the shoulder. He looked to Harry, as if for help, but Harry looked just as much at a loss for how to handle a sobbing Hermione as Ron was.

"Shh, Hermione, McGonagall might come back," Harry tried.

"I'm sorry, it's…" Hermione hiccupped loudly, heedless of Harry's warning, "just that…I'm…so…glad…you're…_here!" she wailed, unexpectedly hugging Harry tightly again. Ron raised an eyebrow. "You too!" Hermione cried, doing the same for him. The red-head looked exceptionally pleased. "I'm sorry, both of you! I'm sorry I didn't write and that I was such a…" Hermione said something which made both Harry and Ron's eyes widen in surprise, "…when you came here, Ron, and…and…just for being so __stupid!" she declared passionately, stomping her foot. Hermione sniffled and took a few deep breaths, hiccupping periodically and feeling extremely immature. Frankly, though, she didn't care at the moment._

"You're not stupid," Ron assured her. He paused thoughtfully. "Stubborn, maybe, but not stupid."

Hermione tried to draw herself up in a dignified and offended way, but the attempt was ruined by another loud hiccup.

"I think _someone _needs to go back to bed," Harry said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Good idea," Hermione muttered, hastily clearing her throat and wiping her eyes. "Well…I'll talk to you two in the morning, then..."

"Right, Harry you can sleep on the floor in my room," Ron offered generously. Harry scowled but started following Ron towards his room nevertheless. He suddenly stopped, turned around, and then awkwardly and quickly hugged Hermione again. Hermione smiled into Harry's shoulder, and then sniffed again as he pulled away and followed Ron. Hermione hastily wiped the last few stray tears from her eyelashes and started towards her own bedroom.

"Oh, and Hermione…" Ron called casually, stopping. Hermione turned around expectantly. "Nice pajamas," Ron grinned, winking. 

Hermione immediately felt heat rush to her cheeks. She haughtily pulled the right strap of her nightgown back over her bare shoulder and folded her arms to somewhat cover herself.

"And I'm sure your maroon plaid pajamas are equally attractive under there," she replied scathingly, gesturing to Ron's night-robe.

"Oh no," Ron responded mildly. "I sleep in the nude."

And with that, he cheerfully strode away, Harry holding his stomach to keep from laughing as Hermione's jaw dropped.

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*Snicker* That is _so_ my favourite line.

I wrote this review song for the Sugar Quill…to the tune of…yes, Backstreet's Back. Enjoy.

_Everybody…yeaaaaaah…_

_Hope you're happy…yeaaaaaah…_

_Everybody…hope you're happy tonight,_

_'Cause Harry's back, all right!_

_Oh my God, Harry's back again,_

_Everyone's glad, so dance and sing!_

_If you liked the chapter, then show me now,_

_Gotta__ question for you better answer now…yeah…_

_Was it original? Yeaaaaah…_

_Was this chap. the best one? Yeaaaaaah…_

_Was it se – _

Wait a second, now! This is a PG-13 fic! None of that! Stupid Backstreet Boys…

_Everybody…yeaaaaaah…_

_Hope you're happy…yeaaaaaah…_

_Everybody…hope you're happy tonight,_

_'Cause Harry's back, all right!_

_Now throw your hands up in the air,_

_Harry's back with his untidy hair!_

_If you want some more, let me see you review,_

_'Cause I'd really like to hear from you!_

_Yeaaaaaaaah__…_


	13. The Famous Harry Potter

**Author's Notes: **Again, a repeated** word of warning…some things in this chapter, and in upcoming chapters, may not make sense to you after reading OotP. This is due to the fact that, as I've said before, this story was first written in the golden days _before_ Order of the Phoenix. So you sort of have to pretend that you're back in the three year summer before Book Five. Ah, the three year summer.**

On with the chapter!

***

Harry Potter gazed around his best friend's bedroom in awe. An enormous, inviting four-poster bed with rich, forest green drapes around it took up the centre of the spacious room. Thick curtains of the same colour, lined with gold trimming, were pulled shut around tall windows. An ornamental trunk, beautifully carved, sat in the corner of the bedroom, next to a gold-framed mirror with clawed feet. To Harry's mild surprise, the mirror stirred and casually strolled to the other side of the room, settling itself comfortably near the door. Paintings and tapestries hung on the stone Hogwarts walls, which, in this room, somehow did not look cold and ancient but warm and comfortable. A quick glance into Ron's bathroom revealed more luxury; it included an enormous bathtub with many different handles, not unlike the one in the prefects' bathroom, and a miniature water fountain. Water was shooting into the air from a ceramic mermaid's lips.

"Well, well, well," Harry mused, walking out of the bathroom. "So while we were sharing a dormitory with three other boys, McGonagall and the other teachers were living it up in the Hogwarts grand suites."

Ron grinned and flopped onto his bed, which nearly enveloped him in softness. He didn't bother stifling a loud yawn as he stretched lazily.

"You weren't serious about sleeping in the nude, were you?" Harry asked slowly, a look of horror dawning on his face. "Because I don't mind sleeping in the bathroom…or the closet…"

"'Course I wasn't serious," Ron's voice said from somewhere within a groove in his mattress. "It's just fun to get a rise out of Hermione," he snickered.

Harry rolled his eyes but grinned, then seeing that Ron wasn't going to offer him the bed any time soon, he murmured something under his breath and conjured a comfortable little cot to sleep on. As Ron cast aside his night-robe Harry got a brief glimpse of maroon pyjamas. He smirked.

"Everything taken care of in Canada?" Ron asked presently, putting out the torches in his bedroom with a swift wave of his wand. He tossed it onto his nightstand.

"Number four is safe and sound, thankfully," Harry replied, sounding relieved. "'Course we never thought it'd be there, and it was a job wrestling it away from the wood-nymphs, who believed that it was their cosmic destiny to protect it or something…but it's safe now."

"How's Hagrid?"

"Great," Harry grinned to himself in the dark, remembering the overjoyed feeling he'd had when he had discovered that Hagrid was to be part of the mission. "He was a big part of the search team…but once we had found it, he had to go back to the Alps…I guess there's some big negotiation going on with the giants, and since he's the Ministry's ambassador…"

"Things all right at the Ministry?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. Except that Stark git is giving us a hard time again, Sirius nearly took his head off last time he showed up and started one of his stupid rants…"

Harry paused and stared up at the ceiling, grateful to be sleeping comfortably indoors at last, even if it was only on a cot in his partner's bedroom. Ron had fallen silent, and Harry decided that it was an appropriate time to ask the question that had been burning inside him since his arrival. "How's Dumbledore? Any worse than the last time you wrote me?" Harry asked anxiously. They had, of course, been keeping in touch through owls, sending letters at least once a week. For fear of interception, however, they were usually brief, and in code. The two Aurors could never be too careful.

"No change at all," Ron sighed, "for better or for worse. It's like he's in a comma or whatever that Muggle illness thing is."

"A _coma," Harry corrected._

"Right…"

A very long silence followed. Harry was sure that his partner had not actually fallen asleep, and that Ron was doing exactly what he was: staring at the ceiling, contemplating their former headmaster's situation. Harry did not think he could ever forgive himself if they let Dumbledore die; Dumbledore, who had worked tirelessly to keep Harry alive. Harry quickly decided to change the subject for the moment.

"Well?" he said out of nowhere.

"Well what?"

"You know what I'm talking about," Harry retorted.

"Excuse me, Mr. Potter," Ron shot back irritably. "But I was not aware we were going to have a jolly little sleepover, and stay up all night talking about boys and painting each other's nails. Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get some sleep."

"Pity. You would've looked so good with a manicure."

"Ha, ha."

Another silence. "She's got a boyfriend," Ron finally muttered.

"Really?" Harry exclaimed in surprise. "Who?"

"Some brainless git from the Ministry." Contempt and a faint note of bitterness were definitely in Ron's voice. Harry couldn't help but feel momentarily sorry for his friend.

"What department?"

"Finance or some nonsense like that."

"Ouch. That's got to smart."

"Excuse me? It isn't a contest," Ron said, trying to make his voice sound as casual as possible. "Besides, there's plenty of other fish in the sea. I know of lots of women who'd give anything for a piece of Ron Weasley," he said smugly.

It was rather pathetic; Ron didn't even sound like he'd convinced himself.

Harry gave a derisive snort. "Bull - "

"Language, Mr. Potter," Ron interrupted in a singsong voice. "Ten points from Gryffindor."

"Ha, ha." There was silence yet again. Harry gazed at the ceiling thoughtfully.

"…He looks like _Lockhart_," Ron suddenly said in disgust. "Lockhart with glasses."

"No!" Harry gasped.

"Yes," Ron replied grimly. "And she…she thinks he's gonna ask her to…you know…"

"_No!"_

"_Yes," Ron replied despondently._

A hush fell over the room as Harry processed this information. He attempted to picture this despised boyfriend, but was unsuccessful. He only managed to conjure a picture of Lockhart wearing oversized glasses, the kind with a fake moustache attached to them. Harry shook his head to clear it.

"Ron, I reckon you'd better step up," he said seriously. "You're going to lose her, you know."

"'You're going to lose her'?" Ron sniggered. "Harry, have you been reading those romance novels again?"

"Shut up and listen to me for a second, you idiot," Harry snapped, propping himself up on one elbow and speaking in the vague direction of Ron's bed. "I refuse to leave this castle with a lovesick partner who keeps whining about Hermione, Hermione, Hermione." He started mimicking Ron in a high-pitched, whiny voice. "'Do you think she'll write _soon, Harry? Do you think she misses us, Harry? We haven't heard from her since we _left_, Harry, maybe her owls are getting lost - '"_

"All right," Ron cut in sharply, but Harry was on a roll.

"'I should've never left, Harry. What if I never see her again, Harry? What if she thinks I don't care about her anymore, Harry - ?'"

"_All right!_" Ron yelled impatiently. "Besides, I never said that last one," he muttered. "She knows how I feel - "

"Correction, Weasley, she knew how you felt seven years ago before…never mind," Harry said, a faint trace of bitterness in his voice.

"Well, what am I supposed to say?" Ron asked, exasperated. "'Hey Hermione, I'm still madly in love with you. Can you _not_ marry your rich, successful, handsome boyfriend? Thanks very much.'"

"Say whatever! I'm just sick of being part of the Ron Weasley pity party."

"But…"

"Okay then!" Harry cut in loudly. "When you two start acting like adults and admit you're crazy about each other, let me know, will you?"

"All right, all right," Ron said in defeat. "It's not like I haven't _tried, you know…and now it seems sort of inappropriate to be putting the moves on Hermione when Professor Dumbledore is unconscious in the hospital wing. There are more important things than our twisted little relationship, you know…" Ron trailed off, sounding quite disgusted with himself for worrying about such trivial things when Dumbledore's life was on the line. Harry remained quiet. "Contrary to popular belief, I'm _not_ an insensitive prick," Ron added haughtily._

Harry considered the various comebacks he could respond with, but then decided against all of them. "Tomorrow we have work to do," Harry said instead. "We could be running out of time, you know." His voice cracked as he said this. "I think we should return to the scene of the crime."

"The Great Hall?"

"Well…if you really believe this Drago woman poisoned him…we…we need to check out the dungeons."

There was the unmistakable sound of Ron swallowing nervously. Harry didn't blame him; there was nothing he'd rather do than set the bloody dungeons on fire and never have to set foot down their again. But the mark of a good Auror was not to let personal feelings or fears get in the way. The job had to be done.

"Hermione's not exactly a fan of the dungeons," Ron replied doubtfully. "And neither am I, for that matter," he admitted.

"Same," Harry agreed, his throat dry. "But we…we really should…"

"Yeah. All right."

"I wouldn't mind checking out Dumbledore's office, either," said Harry thoughtfully.

"Good idea."

A faint, pink light was beginning to stream through the thick emerald curtains, which Harry guessed were made of some sort of enchanted material to allow the first light of day to pass through them. "We should really get some sleep, then," Ron said.

"Aw, does this mean no manicure?"

"Shut up, Harry. G'night."

"Night."

The sleepy silence that followed was quickly broken. "Harry?"

"Mmhmm?" Harry replied thickly.

"Thanks."

Harry grinned into his pillow, and then rolled onto his back. "Well, someone had to set you straight. If it weren't for me you and Hermione would still be bickering about the Yule Ball."

"Ha, ha."

***

Though she loved him dearly and was ecstatic to see him again, by mid-afternoon of the next day, an extremely irritated Hermione Granger had decided that Harry Potter was more trouble than he was worth.

It wasn't that Harry had become annoying or anything; quite the contrary. Professor McGonagall had generously agreed to give both Hermione and Ron the day off to spend with Harry, and it had started out quite pleasantly enough. All three of them, despite their late night adventures the previous evening, had awoken early, had breakfast together, and then had chatted amicably about lighter topics before delving into the reason Harry had come - Dumbledore.

They talked in hushed voices, alone in the Great Hall, for a few hours. However, by nine o'clock, whispered rumours were circulating that Harry Potter was in the Great Hall, and they had to leave. By eleven o'clock, a few of the more daring students started skipping classes to see if they could get a glimpse of the Boy Who Lived. By noon, the entire school knew that Harry Potter had indeed returned to Hogwarts.

It was like guarding a high-profile celebrity all day. Ron and Hermione took more points from the houses in three hours than they had all year, having to send many, many students who had hoped to meet Harry back to class. This was the generation that had grown up on Harry Potter mania; after the death of Voldemort the magical community had had a heyday, amazed that they had been saved once again by the same baby who'd survived _Avada_ Kedavra_ so many years ago. Of course, Hermione and Ron had also had their fifteen minutes of fame (to Ron's excitement and Hermione's chagrin), but they soon faded into the background, destined to become two more briefly mentioned names in the history books. In fact, Hermione was rarely even called by name in the books, known only as 'Harry Potter's other loyal friend', the one who hadn't become an Auror and later earned fame for himself. Which was just fine, as far as Hermione was concerned._

"I think we need to get you one of those Muggle disguise kits," Ron said cheerfully as he told off a group of girls hoping to get Harry's autograph in lipstick. The trio was walking through one of the main corridors and kept being assaulted by Potter fans. "And possibly a wig. I'm thinking platinum blonde," he grinned. Hermione felt a strong desire to kick her overly buoyant co-worker. Things had ceased to be amusing or humorous after Slytherin had taken the lead in house points, due to the fact that Ron and Hermione were taking so many points from eager Gryffindors that wanted to meet Harry.

"Let's go somewhere else, shall we?" Hermione suggested, feeling irritable. "If I take any more points from Gryffindor they're going to be in the negative numbers - "

She was interrupted by a loud gasp. Max Brady stood at the end of the corridor with a group of his friends. He had halted in his steps. The Gryffindor Quidditch captain's eyes slowly travelled from Harry's shoes, up his torso. They took in the glasses, the new scar beneath Harry's left eye ("A hag tried to take out my eye," Harry had proudly told an appalled Hermione earlier this morning), his untidy black hair, and finally came to rest on the tell-tale, lightning bolt scar on Harry's forehead. Before Hermione or Ron could say "detention", Max had thrown himself at Harry's feet. Harry promptly turned a lovely shade of crimson.

"Er…hello," he said weakly, staring at the usually popular and self-assured boy at his feet.

"Mr. Potter!" Max managed to gasp. "I'm…I'm Harry Potter, Mr. Brady! I mean - I'm Max Brady, Mr. Potter! _Enormous _fan!" he breathed. "You're my idol! You're an absolutely brilliant Seeker sir, absolutely - "

"Mr. Brady, will you kindly get off Harry's shoes?" Ron asked pleasantly.

Max, however, was now sobbing at Harry's feet. A few of his friends, who had previously been chatting excitedly and pointing at Harry's scar, were now staring at him queerly.

"You have to play for Gryffindor again, sir!" Max wailed as his embarrassed-looking friends grabbed him under his armpits and hauled him to his feet. "Roger's still in the hospital wing, and Steve Brown's been filling in, and he couldn't catch the Snitch if it danced in front of him! And when they start up Quidditch again we're going to get flattened! _Please_, sir! You're our _only_ hope!" He was now being dragged away by his friends, who were looking at a displeased Professor Granger nervously. "I know you don't go to Hogwarts anymore, but you _were _in Gryffindor, and…they'll let you play again, I know they will! Please, sir! You have to!" Max's wild yells echoed down the corridor as he was dragged around the corner and out of sight.

"Well," Ron said jovially, "that was disturbing."

"Do you think we could go check out Professor Dumbledore's office now?" Hermione asked impatiently, hands on her hips. The boys had informed her this morning about their plans for the day, and though she was trying to be as bold as they had seemed, her stomach was slowly twisting into knots at the thought of going down to the dungeons. She was trying to delay it as long as possible.

Harry, meanwhile, was looking rather humiliated. "Sorry about all this…" he muttered.

"Not your fault, mate," Ron said, slapping Harry on the back good-humouredly. Which, Hermione mused to herself as they headed towards Dumbledore's office, proved yet again that Ron had matured somewhat in the last seven years. At least he wasn't throwing a jealous tantrum because Harry was getting all the attention.

"Hermione. _Hermione!"_

Professor Granger was jerked out of her thoughts by Ron snapping his fingers in front of her face. "What's the password?" he inquired, and by the tone of his voice it seemed as if this was not the first time he had asked. Hermione blinked, surprised; they were standing in front of the stone gargoyle that was the entrance to the headmaster's office.

"Erm…strawberry liquorice," Hermione said clearly. The three of them waited expectantly. The gargoyle just blinked back at them.

"Damn," Ron swore. "He must've changed the password before - "

Harry looked thoughtful. "Sherbert lemon," he tried. "Butterbeer. Bertie Botts' Every Flavour Beans. Uh…chocolate frogs. Er…canary creams!"

"Canary creams? Don't be stupid, those were Fred and George's…" But to everyone's surprise, the gargoyle was slowly swinging open.

"Well, what do you know?" Harry said mildly. Looking pleased with himself, he started up the winding stairs leading to Dumbledore's office. Hermione and Ron exchanged glances and followed, both getting the strange feeling that Harry had had to do that before.

All three of them had been in Dumbledore's office alone before, but never had the circular room seemed so empty, so vacant. Fawkes the phoenix, though he was in his fully matured glory at the moment, looked even more pathetic than he did on Burning Day. Hermione was surprised to discover Dumbledore's desk was quite handsome, carved from enchanted wood that periodically changed occasionally, ranging from mahogany to white cedar. She had never really had a good look at the headmaster's desk, as it was usually covered in an abundance of letters, notices, and other documents. Despite its enchanted splendour, the desk looked rather forlorn without its usual mountain of papers.

All in all, the office seemed to be lacking something - or rather, a presence. It had the look of a place that had not been lived in for several months, though in reality, Dumbledore had only been in the hospital wing for a few weeks. Judging by their silence and the way their eyes sadly swept the room, Hermione's two male companions felt the emptiness in there as well.

"Well," Ron finally said, clearing his throat and glancing at Harry, "where do we start?"

But the expression on Harry's face had abruptly changed as something caught his eye. Hermione followed his gaze and noticed it too; a glint of silver, shining in the pale, February sunlight, which was streaming into the room from a nearby window. As if they shared a mind, the three of them crossed over to the object - a shallow stone basin with a silver liquid swirling around inside of it. Hermione had just decided that it was in fact a gas, and not a liquid, when Ron gave a low whistle of recognition.

"Dumbledore's Pensieve," Ron said, turning to Harry. "I assume this is what we came to see?"

"This is it?" Hermione said in interest, examining the basin at length. Harry had, of course, disclosed full details about his adventures within Dumbledore's thoughts back in the fourth year, but Hermione had never really pictured the Pensieve to look like this. "Fascinating," she breathed, leaning closed to the basin, her fingers outstretched. "Brilliant, really - to keep all his thoughts in here instead of having them clutter up his head - "

"Don't!" Ron warned, grabbing Hermione's wrist. Her index finger was just about to graze the surface of the silvery substance.

"Wouldn't want you to get trapped in Dumbledore's memories for eternity, would we?" he said, giving her a grin, but Hermione had become interested in what Harry was doing now - stirring the contents of the Pensieve with his wand. A blurry sort of picture had appeared within their depths as the cloudy substance became clear. Mesmerized, Hermione stared at it; she recognized the picture as a snapshot of the Sorting Feast last year. Rather suddenly, the tiny people inside the Pensieve began to move slowly. Hermione watched, entranced; a lifetime of being in the magical community would never lessen the wonder of certain things for the Muggle-born witch. She was itching to take a closer look, but Ron's warning repeated itself in her head.

"No, no," Harry was murmuring absently, swirling vigorously again. As he continued to stir, scenes flashed before Hermione's eyes - a few more feasts, the face of the Minister for Magic - and then, to Hermione's surprise, she caught a glimpse of a conversation she herself had had with the headmaster a few years ago. To see her own face within the silvery whirlpool of the Pensieve was strangely disturbing. Finally, the scenes started to run into each other, becoming a colourful blur - it seemed that with each swirl they were moving backwards in Dumbledore's memories.

"What're you looking for?" Ron inquired, the contents of the Pensieve reflecting in his eyes. They were sparkling in excitement and eagerness. Hermione quickly scolded herself for staring at Ron's eyes and returned her attention to Harry.

"Well, we know Dumbledore has a habit of putting memories of court trials in here," Harry replied, still swirling. "If he suspected the same thing we do, and if the information you've given me was correct…aha!" Harry cried triumphantly, pulling his wand out of the Pensieve. "He _was there."_

Though Hermione hadn't the faintest clue what Harry was talking about, she keenly gazed into the Pensieve, as did Ron. A grim-looking dungeon-like room swam before them. Several solemn-looking people were seated on benches, which filled the room and were all facing a stand in the centre. It was a courtroom, Hermione guessed, as she focused on the centre of the room. Two wizards and one witch were sitting in chairs, bound to them by gold chains which snaked up their arms and seemed to be cutting into their flesh, they were so tight. The wizards, both raven-haired and wild-looking, though one was considerably older than the other, were struggling savagely against the chains, but in vain. The witch, however - a young woman with chestnut-coloured, curly hair - sat very still. She would have been quite pretty had her eyes not looked blank and lifeless, and her pale face not been disturbingly gaunt.

"Hermione!"

She was pulled back to reality by Ron calling her name. Hermione blinked; her face was inches from the basin's silvery contents.

"Sorry," Hermione muttered, straightening. "I couldn't see properly from here, and - "

"No, you're right," said Harry thoughtfully. "We'll have to go in."

Ron gawked at him. "Are you _mad?_"

"No, it's all right," Harry assured him. "I've done it before, and the thing spit me right back out again." He paused, knitting his eyebrows together. "Well, actually, Dumbledore pulled me out, but…"

"Well, then," Ron cut in. "You and I will go in, and Hermione will stay out here."

"I most certainly will not!" Hermione exclaimed in a dignified voice, not wanting to be left behind. "I'm going in too," she said stubbornly.

Ron frowned, seeming to fight some sort of internal conflict. "Fine," he agreed reluctantly after Harry had given him a look. "But don't blame me if you're stuck in there with us forever."

Hermione looked victorious, and folded her arms. "So?" she asked Harry, peering at the wavering courtroom image. "What do we do?"

"Just touch it. One finger will do."

Hermione and Ron nodded, each stretching out their hands, which hesitated uncertainly over the basin.

"Hold on a second, mate," Ron suddenly said, looking to Harry. "What…or _when…exactly is this?" He nodded at the image within the Pensieve._

"You don't know?" Harry responded in surprise. "It's Alonso Drago's trial."

Hermione's eyes widened as Harry pointed at the older of the two wizards, sitting in the chair on the far left. He had stopped struggling now, and was instead using his energy to glare around the room with bloodshot eyes full of maliciousness and spite. They kept flickering back to a certain spot in the room, on one of the nearby benches, and his eyes would become even more venomous when he did so.

"Oh," Hermione whispered, staring.

"Ready?" Harry asked, inhaling sharply. Hermione and Ron both nodded mutely, standing side by side. "One, two…"

At the last second, Hermione's palms became sweaty and she started feeling exceptionally nervous. Unconsciously, she slipped her free hand into Ron's. His eyes flickered over to Hermione, and he gave her a reassuring little smile.

"Three."

They simultaneously touched the silvery gas; Dumbledore's office unexpectedly tilted, and Hermione abruptly felt as if she had become very small. Then she was sucked headfirst into the basin by some unseen force. She screamed soundlessly, spinning through a silver whirlwind and clutching onto Ron's hand for dear life.

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**Review song of old (to the tune of "What I Like About You"):**

_Uh huh huh…_

_What I like about reviews!_

_They help me wriiiiite._

_Thanks a lot for giving them,_

_It makes me so happy toniiiiiight._

_Yeah…___

_Your reviews, I hold them dear,_

_They tell me all the things that I wanna hear,_

_'Cause it's true.___

_That's what I like about reviews!_


	14. Questions

**Author's Notes: **_Extremely long chapter alert!_

Someone on the SQ asked me what happened to the Dementors, according to this fic. I briefly mention it in this chapter, but I don't go into detail. Let's just say that, in the Bury the Hatchet universe, Sirius went back to Azkaban and hokey pokey'd them to Death. You know, he started being all "Put your right foot in and put your right foot out, put your right foot in and shake it all about…" and the Dementors all got confused and exploded.

…

^_^

***

Hermione blinked away the dark spots clouding her vision, feeling breathless. She found herself sitting on a bench inside the very courtroom they had been watching from the safety of Dumbledore's office. Shivering, and feeling slightly numb from the trip, Hermione slowly gazed around the room. None of the solemn-looking witches and wizards seemed to have noticed that three strangers had just plopped into their midst.

As the feeling in her arms and legs began to come back, Hermione noted in surprise that Ron was sitting beside her, on her left, and that she was still grasping his hand in a bone-crushing grip. She relaxed her grip due to the masked expression of pain on her friend's face. They simultaneously glanced upwards, both expecting to see Dumbledore's office peering back at them. Harry, who was on Hermione's right, did not bother. A very solid-looking stone ceiling stared back at them.

Hermione bit her lip, suddenly looking very embarrassed as she surveyed the dignified people sitting around her. She opened her mouth as if to apologise.

"It's all right," Harry said, reading his friend's expression correctly. "They can't see us."

"Alonso Drago, Donovan Owens, Samantha Owens," a monotonous voice announced. Hermione jumped at the sound and glanced over to see Nicholas Foran, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. However, the last time Hermione had seen him - at a social function for Ministry staff which she had attended with Charles a little before Christmas - he had had a dark beard, flecked with spots of grey. The Nicholas Foran who had just spoken was beardless, with a smooth face and black hair devoid of any silver specks. This memory had to be from quite a few years ago.

Hermione turned her attention to the three prisoners in the centre of the courtroom. Alonso Drago, though more fierce and wild-looking close up, seemed to have been drained of all his energy. Hermione suspected that the golden chains weren't just for decoration - they were probably draining the prisoners of their strength, so that escape was impossible. Drago's eyes remained transfixed on one spot, his hateful gaze unwavering. The younger wizard, Donovan Owens - whose name Hermione was sure she had heard before, probably from her and Ron's list - didn't seem quite as worn out as his companion. Every now and then in a violent outburst, he would begin to struggle against the chains holding him and then abruptly stop, glaring around the room through hooded eyes. The witch, Samantha, remained placid and unmoving, her eyes slack.

"You have been brought before this council so that we may pass judgement," Foran continued in his flat voice. Hermione remembered that he was very serious, and a bit boring. Surprisingly, Charles - who usually worshipped all senior Ministry members - had not seemed very fond of him either. "You stand accused of being Death Eaters, servants of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, of murdering a family of Muggles, the O'Brians, and of using two Unforgivable Curses on other human beings: the Cruciatus curse, and the Imperius curse. How do you plead?"

The two wizards remained tight-lipped and silent, as if they did not want to give the council the satisfaction of hearing them answer. The only sound in the hushed courtroom was breathing - harsh, ragged breathing which was now coming from Samantha Owens. If anyone else had noticed this, they gave no indication that they did.

"Very well," Foran said curtly. "We will hear the testimony of the witnesses before passing judgement." He said this with a tone of finality that clearly said the witnesses' testimonies were unimportant. From the looks on the faces of the witches and wizards gathered there, it seemed that they felt the same - the three accused were getting a life sentence in Azkaban, regardless.

"Ron, Harry," Hermione whispered, as someone appeared at Foran's elbow and gave him a few pieces of parchment, causing a brief pause in the proceedings. She had become curious when she had thought about Azkaban. "When exactly do you think this is?"

Ron was staring at a wizard on the same bench as them, but further down, with a look of intense concentration. "Seven years ago," he said promptly. Both Harry and Hermione stared at him. "That's Darnell over there," he explained, pointing to the wizard he had been staring at. Harry's eyes flickered in recognition. "Another Auror," he told Hermione. "See, Harry? He has the scar on his chin, but he hasn't grown his hair out long yet…so this must be about seven years ago."

Hermione looked extremely impressed with Ron's observational skills. He noticed the look, and his cheeks flushed pink as he gave a triumphant sort of smile. "So, this took place _after the Dementors had been removed from Azkaban," Ron continued. "The goblins had taken over for them already, and the Dementus curse had been put into effect."_

Hermione nodded; the _Dementus_ curse had been a brilliant new spell invented by the celebrated warlock Vorian Mugsworth seven years ago, and it served as an effective replacement for the Dementors. The curse sucked the happiness out of Azkaban and prevented escape nearly as well as the Dementors had. Goblins were introduced as guards; after working at Gringotts for so long, they were quite familiar with strict, rigid security and were suited perfectly for the job.

"So this must be right after…you know…" Ron trailed off and then stared into space, clearly lost in his own thoughts. It registered somewhere in the back of Hermione's mind that she was still holding onto his hand, but for some reason she couldn't let go. Sighing inaudibly, Hermione turned her gaze towards the prisoners again…

…Only to find Donovan Owens staring right back at her.

Hermione shrieked and squeezed Ron's hand with surprising strength. Ron winced, though an expression of concern appeared on his face through the pain. "What is it?" he asked as Hermione stared back at the accused wizard, transfixed. His eyes were definitely on her. There was something disturbing about those eyes.

"Him! He's…he's looking at me," Hermione hissed, edging closer to Ron and pressing against his warm body. It was slightly comforting. "I thought you said they couldn't see us?" she whispered to Harry.

"They can't," Harry replied, glancing behind Hermione. "It's not you he's glaring at…look."

Hermione and Ron twisted their bodies to see Albus Dumbledore sitting behind them, calmly staring back at Owens. Hermione heard Ron inhale sharply. Seeing the headmaster as he was during their Hogwarts days again - full of power and much healthier-looking - made Hermione's lip start trembling. Afraid she might do something stupid, like cry, Hermione swiftly turned around. Foran looked ready to speak again.

"I call Albus Dumbledore to the stand," Foran announced. Surprised, Harry, Ron, and Hermione watched as Dumbledore rose and swept over to sit on a stand next to Foran. It looked very much like a witness stand, like in Muggle courts. But instead of swearing an oath, Dumbledore was given a vial containing a small amount of a clear, colourless liquid - Veritaserum. The wizard handing him the vial seemed to be apologizing profusely, but Dumbledore waved his hand dismissively and drank it.

"Could you please tell us about the events of the twenty-fifth of June, Albus?" Foran asked, a note of respect in his usually monotonous voice.

"Certainly, Nicholas," Dumbledore replied in a quiet voice. His eyes were locked on the prisoners, who were giving him glares full of such malice and loathing that Hermione was amazed he could maintain eye contact.

"I have already given a testimony in front of this council concerning the events leading to Lord Voldemort's demise," Dumbledore began. A shudder seemed to run through the entire assembly, but no one spoke a word about him using the dreaded name. "But I will repeat it for the purposes of this council. Severus Snape nobly sacrificed himself in order to spare the life of Harry Potter. Therefore, Harry was once again granted the protection that had prevented him from being killed by _Avada__ Kedavra many years ago. Voldemort had not foreseen this; thus he was quite unprepared when Harry and his two classmates, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, all performed the aforementioned curse simultaneously. The three combined curses did what one could not, and killed Lord Voldemort. There is no doubt in my mind that he is dead," he said firmly. Donovan and Alonso, despite his apparent weakness, started struggling again, both shouting unspeakable things to Dumbledore._

"Silence!" Foran suddenly roared, and Hermione jumped in surprise. Somehow the Head of Magical Law managed to control the two unruly prisoners with one shout. The listless look about him had vanished, and a look of powerfulness and fury which Hermione would have never dreamed possible from Nicholas Foran radiated from the man. Silence filled every corner of the courtroom, until Samantha Owens' ragged breathing broke it again.

"Continue," Foran said simply to Dumbledore.

"Thank you," Dumbledore replied calmly. "The Dark Lord had it designed so that whenever he was in mortal peril, his sign - the Dark Mark - which was burned into each of his followers, would become quite painful. Many of Voldemort's supporters fled, as you know, when the Mark began to burn, but the three you see before you," he gestured to the prisoners, "were astoundingly faithful to him. By some means that I still do not fully comprehend, Voldemort had managed to enter my school, and once inside, break the powerful magic surrounding Hogwarts which prevents people from Apparating into it. Thus, these three Death Eaters were able to Apparate into Hogwarts, along with two others - Ethan Fortinbras and Langla Bane - who have, if I am correct, also been apprehended by the Ministry. The five of them tortured the first person they met, using the Cruciatus curse, for information," a note of fury intruded into Dumbledore's calm, quiet tone, "a member of my staff, Minerva McGonagall."

The three intruders from the future gasped in surprise, along with the council. Hermione's eyes were as wide. "Did you…did you know?" she managed to choke out to her two companions as whispers and murmurs filled the courtroom. The two shook their heads slowly, looked as horrified and shocked as Hermione felt.

"Why didn't he ever…why didn't _she_ ever…" Hermione began as Foran once again ordered silence.

"I don't know," Harry said, astonished. "I never had any idea…"

"However, they did not break Professor McGonagall," Dumbledore continued, a note of admiration in his voice. "I arrived from the hospital wing, where I had been speaking to the three brave young people I named before, and managed to Stun the intruders with the help of a few other members of my faithful staff. And that, I believe, is where the Ministry took over in these matters."

A silence descended upon the room once again as Foran nodded to Dumbledore. The headmaster rose and returned to his seat, his robes silently swishing behind him.

"When we go back to the future," Ron promised fervently, "I am going to get down on my knees and apologize to McGonagall for every rotten thing I've ever said about her."

"Thank you, Albus," Foran nodded towards Dumbledore again, his voice back to monotone, but his eyes still flashing. "I now call our second witness to the stand," he announced, "Miss Diana Drago."

If the three invisible intruders had been surprised by the news about McGonagall, it was nothing compared to this. Ron, shocked to the core, fell backwards and toppled off the bench, still clinging onto Hermione's hand. She hoisted him back up, a dumbfounded look upon her face. Harry just stared intensely at the witness stand, looking perplexed. A pale teenage girl, unmistakably a younger Diana, took the stand. She was no older than seventeen or eighteen. Trying to appear as calm and relaxed as Dumbledore had, she drank the Veritaserum. Hermione noticed her hands were trembling badly, and that the colour had drained from her face.

Meanwhile, Alonso - who had been strangely subdued for the rest of Dumbledore's testimony - had started thrashing and screaming wildly in a language that Hermione did not understand, though it sounded like Spanish or Italian. It seemed he had been saving what precious energy he had left for this. Diana purposefully avoided her father's gaze, quivering visibly now. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her usually crimson lips were colourless, pursed together in a thin line.

"Miss Drago," Foran began, his tone sounding considerably gentler as he spoke to the distraught teenage girl, "you have agreed - at great personal expense," he added, looking around at the council, " - to testify against your father, and his two accomplices, Donovan and Samantha Owens. We have heard Dumbledore's testimony, and now we ask to hear yours concerning the events surrounding the murder of a Muggle family on the fifteenth of June, ten days before the events that Albus Dumbledore just described."

Diana took a deep, shuddering breath, but it seemed the Veritaserum made things a bit easier for her. She began speaking quickly, hardly daring to take a breath lest she stop and lose her nerve. "My father and the Owens' needed a place to stay. My father said that his master had provided somewhere comfortable for us to hide until he needed us in a few weeks, when he would break into Hogwarts and murder Harry Potter. It was a Muggle home, belonging to a rich family in Ireland. Samantha had put me under the Imperius curse, because she and Donovan felt that I had become a danger to them lately. I got in the way and interfered a lot after I realized what…what they really were. My father insisted on dragging me along, though. We went to the Muggle house, and my father knocked on the door. A man answered. He killed him."

Alonso's screams had become louder now as he kicked and struggled. Donovan too, was becoming unruly again. And still, Samantha remained immobile, though her eyes had become wide and her breathing more sporadic.

"Silence!" Foran bellowed again, but this time Alonso Drago would not be quieted. Diana began trembling violently, and she avoided her father's gaze as he screamed at her in his native tongue. "_Stupefy!_" Foran hollered, pointing his wand at Alonso. The prisoner's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he slumped forward in the chair. The golden chains were the only thing that held him in.

Donovan seemed to have gotten the message and quieted. He turned to his wife, who was now murmuring something under her breath as she gasped for air. A look of concern was written all over his face - the most human emotion Hermione had seen from any of the prisoners thus far.

"Please," Foran said to Diana, breathing deeply, "continue."

Diana was taking shallow, unsteady breaths. Hermione watched in astonishment; never had she seen Diana Drago like this before. But this was a young Diana, one who was being forced to re-live an obviously terrible moment in her life, while her own father screamed unknown insults at her. Ron's warm body, pressed up against her, was very rigid. Hermione shivered; she could feel his heart pounding against his ribs.

"She helped the Ministry…" Ron began murmuring to himself in a strangled sort of voice. "She testified against him…but then…"

"I had been fighting the curse," Diana said in a wavering voice, silencing Ron. "I managed to break free. I ran. Donovan and Samantha chased me. My father finished off the other Muggles. They cornered me, Donovan in front and Samantha behind. Donovan tried…he tried to do the Cruciatus curse, but I ducked, and it hit Samantha instead. Donovan tried to stop me and lift the curse from Samantha at the same time. I had my wand, though, and I managed to Stun him before he could do either. Samantha was screaming…but I ran for it…I got away…" Diana trailed off as Samantha Owens began to convulse uncontrollably, as if she was having a seizure. Chaos broke loose as Donovan turned rather pale and began screaming for someone to help her. A few wizards and a witch hurried down to help. Dumbledore swiftly got up again and strode over to the stand, where Diana looked as if she was going to faint.

Hermione looked around frantically, as the entire courtroom suddenly became very blurry, as if she was watching it through the Pensieve again. Then she felt a wonderful sensation - of floating through the silvery clouds, still holding onto Ron's hand. The last thing she heard was Dumbeldore's voice. "Nicholas…put her in my care…"

The three old friends suddenly found themselves back in Dumbledore's office, sprawled on the ground. The light streaming into the window was now waning - it looked to be about six o'clock. Hermione had no idea how long they had been in the Pensieve. As Ron slowly got to his feet and helped both Harry and Hermione up, the three of them exchanged glances.

If anything, the Pensieve had only created more questions instead of giving them answers.

***

He looked weary and confused, frustrated and helpless, sitting there alone in the library. The flickering torches sent firelight dancing on the walls. It played across his face, illuminating his eyes but also bringing to attention the heavy bags beneath them.

After they had left the Pensieve, Ron had wordlessly stalked off to the Owlery. And now, to Hermione's surprise, she had found him in the library. Leaning against the doorframe, Hermione couldn't help but smile despite herself; perhaps she was rubbing off on her normally negligent friend.

"Hi," Hermione finally said softly. Ron jerked up in surprise; his long legs, which had been folded rather unceremoniously under the table, banged against the desk and nearly caused it to topple over. Hermione winced as the banging echoed throughout the empty library.

"Don't _do that," Ron gasped, clutching at his heart. Hermione couldn't decide if he was being melodramatic or was actually serious. Ron wasn't usually jumpy, but he __had seemed very absorbed._

"Sorry," Hermione apologized, taking the seat next to him. Ron nodded and stared at the several sheets of parchment before him, his eyes strangely glassy, as if he was not looking at them at all.

"Erm…what is all this?" Hermione asked, breaking the silence.

"What? Oh, information on the trial," Ron responded, snapping out of his dream-like state. "It's amazing how much you can find out when you know where to look…and who to ask."

"Friends of yours at the Ministry?" Hermione inquired, briefly skimming the papers scattered sloppily over the desk.

"Yeah. There's not much here that we don't already know, though," Ron replied, disappointment obvious in his voice. He started summarizing a sheet of parchment off-handedly, his voice flat. "Shortly after the trial we just watched, en route to Azkaban, Donovan and Alonso pulled some sort of stunt and escaped. There was evidently a struggle, and while Owens and Drago - Alonso, that is - took off into the woods, Samantha wasn't as lucky. But when they got away, officials hit them both with a powerful stunning spell. Still, I guess the woods were pretty dense and they didn't manage to find them after that. There's no way they would've survived, though…they were half-starved and weak from the trial as it was, it seems…and the Ministry hasn't heard from either of them in years. Samantha Owens is safe in Azkaban where she belongs - "

"But…how is it that you never knew who Diana's father was before?" Hermione interrupted slowly, chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Or that she had testified at his trial?"

"I suppose Dumbledore was behind that," Ron replied bitterly. "He probably told everyone to keep quiet about Diana's daddy, because she'd been through so much or some nonsense like that." He heaved a sigh and kept skimming the parchment, his eyes darting back and forth across the page. "In fact, our friend Diana has been at Hogwarts, under the 'care' of Dumbledore ever since the trial."

Hermione nodded; all wizards and witches straight out of Hogwarts were required to apprentice for a year before they were eligible to teach any subject at the school. Diana had come to Hogwarts and had apprenticed with the temporary Potions Master the same year that Hermione had been apprenticing with Professor Vector. In fact, it had been the year after Hermione's graduation – the year after the fall of Lord Voldemort, and the year after the trial. However, at that time Hermione had had no idea that the cold, sullen girl from Durmstrang had been under Dumbledore's care.

"Ever since the trial…" Ron muttered savagely to himself. A look of intense frustration was now on his face, and he abruptly slammed his fist down on the table, leaping to his feet. "The trial in which she testified, with Dumbledore, to put her own father in prison! It doesn't make sense, dammit!" he shouted furiously.

"Ron," Hermione said as soothingly as she could, leaping up as well. "Ron, calm down…"

Ron's shoulders slumped. "Sorry," he muttered, now looking considerably less furious. Hermione hated how he could switch from hot-tempered to giving her that innocent, powerless, look in a matter of seconds. It was extremely unfair that he happened to be a good actor.

"It's just…I was so sure it was her…" Ron trailed off helplessly, and there was nothing fake about his tone of voice, or the defeated look in his eyes. Feeling a tug at her heartstrings, Hermione did the first thing that came to mind; she slowly moved forward and gave Ron what she hoped was a sisterly, comforting sort of hug.

It quickly turned non-sisterly as a surprised Ron recovered and then slipped his arms around Hermione as well. Heart thudding painfully against her ribs, Hermione tried to tell herself to pull away before Ron got the wrong idea. But he was so warm, and…

"Hullo!" a cheerful voice said, shattering the moment. Hermione yelped and jumped backwards from Ron, loosing her balance and toppling over. It was obvious Ron that was attempting to stay serious, and failing, as he helped her up, stifling laughter. He gave Hermione a sly smile, eyes twinkling, just before Hermione whirled around to see Charles standing in the library doorway.

"Charles! We were just…" Hermione hastily began.

"…going over legal documents, I see!" Charles finished brightly, crossing over to the table and having a look, as if finding his girlfriend in the arms of another man was something quite ordinary. A shadow passed over Charles' merry face as he skimmed over the documents. He frowned and looked up at Ron, a piece of parchment in his hands. "Where did you get these documents, Mr. Wesley?"

"Weasley," Ron corrected him dryly. He snatched the piece of parchment out of Charles' hands. "That's none of your business." Hermione sighed and looked away, not liking where this was going.

"But these are Ministry papers, Mr. Weasler - they're not supposed to be - " Charles tried.

"_Weasley," Ron interrupted. "I'm well aware that they're Ministry papers…I had a friend at the Ministry send them to me - "_

Charles continued frowning, always a stickler for the rules. "Are you sure he had clearance for that, Mr. Weasel? He needs signed permission from the Keeper of the archives to remove any documents from the Ministry archives - "

"_Weas-ley," Ron said slowly, an irritated look on his face. "Yes, he had the proper clearance. Now if you don't mind, Hermione and I were sort of…in the middle of something." A mischievous grin was twitching at the corners of Ron's mouth. Charles cocked his head to the side good-naturedly as Hermione groaned and buried her face in her hands._

"Oh, I'm sorry, pumpkin…" Charles said, turning to Hermione and wringing his hands. "I just came with the Minister to visit Dumbledore - I heard about his illness, very unfortunate, very sad - and wanted to pay my respects, you know…"

"'Pay your respects'?" Ron said, suddenly angry. "He's not dead yet, you know," he blurted out. The colour drained from Hermione's face at these words, and Ron looked as if he wished he had not said that.

"Oh…well…" Charles stuttered, looking uncomfortable. "Just…thought I'd…visit. Er…honeydew, would you care to accompany me to the hospital wing?"

"All right," Hermione agreed before Ron could make a comment about 'pumpkin' or 'honeydew'. "I'll talk to you later, Ron…" she began.

"That's all right, I think I'll come with you," Ron decided, casually cleaning up the mess on the table with a wave of his wand. The parchments immediately rolled themselves up neatly and flew into Ron's awaiting hand. Tucking them under his arm, Ron sneered at Charles and said, "Shall we?" in a high-pitched tone which was clearly intended to imitate Charles' own voice. Charles managed a weak smile as the three of them headed to see Dumbledore.

***

"You're _what?!"_

The sound of Madam Pomfrey's frantic voice greeted them as they approached the door to the hospital wing. Ron winced as he pushed open the door, only to find utter chaos.

Dumbledore was no longer on his bed; he was floating mid-air, a few inches above an awaiting stretcher. Madam Pomfrey was standing protectively in front of the air-borne headmaster, her fists balled and her face furious. The Minister for Magic - a tall, balding man by the name of Issac Crump - was standing a good few feet away from the hospital matron, a helpless sort of look on his face. Behind the Minister was a man wearing a St. Mungo's uniform, cowering at the sight of Madam Pomfrey. And in the midst of it all was Harry Potter, looking torn. Ron appeared at his friend's side and glanced around the room.

"Well that's not something you see every day," Ron murmured, though worry was etched on his face, and his eyes glued to the weightless Dumbledore.

"Mr. Crump, Mr. Crump!" Charles called as he pushed through Ron and Harry, Hermione in toll. He was dragging her along, holding firmly onto her wrist as if he was afraid to lose her in the confusion. "What's going on here?"

"Er…well…" Issac Crump cringed as Madam Pomfrey's eyes flashed dangerously. He was a powerful wizard, with the look of someone who had been very athletic in his younger years, but apparently he had never come across anything as menacing or as violent as Madam Pomfrey. Few wizards had. "Doctor Brasky…from St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries," he explained to the newcomers, "was kind enough to accompany me here. He seems to feel that Professor Dumbledore would be…er…better off in the care of the…experts at St. Mungo's," he said this last part very fast, as if hoping Madam Pomfrey wouldn't hear.

"Are you questioning my abilities as hospital matron?!" Madam Pomfrey screamed shrilly. Her fists were clenched and she looked about ready to breathe fire. Doctor Brasky cowered behind the tall Minister for Magic.

"Not at all, my dear woman, not at all," Mr. Crump said hastily, taking a step backwards. "We just feel that - "

"Mr. Crump?" Harry's voice broke through, sounding polite. "Er…I think that removing Professor Dumbledore from Hogwarts wouldn't be a very good idea."

Charles released Hermione's hand and whirled around at the sound of Harry's voice, eyes wide and thrilled. He had just noticed he was there. "Harry Potter?" Charles breathed, his eyes lighting up as they passed over his lightning bolt scar. Despite the pandemonium around them, and the more pressing matters at hand, Charles scurried over and shook Harry's hand breathlessly. "Such an honour to meet you, sir, such an honour…will you be staying long at Hogwarts? I'm Charles Griney, by the way, Head of Department of Fin - "

"Charles," Crump interrupted. Charles spun around to see the Minister gesturing to the chaotic scene around them. "If you don't mind…" Crump said kindly. Charles, bursting with apologies, returned to Hermione's side.

A grin was slowly forming on Harry's face, and his eyes twinkled with amusement as he exchanged looks with Ron. Ron grinned back and nodded at Harry. Hermione groaned.

"Why do you think it's a bad idea, Mr. Potter?" Crump asked good-naturedly.

"Well, as we all know, Hogwarts is probably the safest place in England for him…" Harry began. Madam Pomfrey nodded in agreement and looked smug.

"No," Ron suddenly interrupted. Pomfrey's expression abruptly changed and she glared threateningly at him. "He should go." Ron gave Harry a meaningful look. Hermione glanced from one Auror to the other; evidently, years of being friends, and then partners, allowed them to all but read each other's mind. Harry nodded slowly, and Hermione suddenly caught on - right now, Hogwarts _wasn't_ the safest place for Dumbledore. They now knew that Diana Drago wasn't behind his sudden illness, but that did not mean that he was safe at the school; it only meant that now _everyone within the Hogwarts walls was a suspect. Hermione shivered, though it was quite warm inside the hospital wing._

Crump looked from Madam Pomfrey, to Ron, then to Harry. He looked quite confused. "All right…well, I have a Portkey set up to transport the headmaster to…please, move aside, Madam Pomfrey," a note of impatience was in the Minister's voice as he took out his wand, intending to float Dumbledore down to the awaiting stretcher, but Madam Pomfrey stubbornly refused to move.

"Madam Pomfrey, why don't I make you a cup of tea?" Hermione asked gently, moving towards the older woman. Madam Pomfrey looked ready to bite her head off, but instead abruptly burst into tears.

"Oy," Ron stated, shaking his head as Hermione led a sobbing Madam Pomfrey away, speaking soothingly to her. They distinctly heard an, "I'm getting too _old for this!" as she and Hermione disappeared into the tiny kitchen adjacent to the hospital wing._

"Thank you very much, Mr. Weasley," Crump sighed, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief. "That woman scares the dickens out of me."

***

With a sigh, Professor Granger stepped out into the corridor outside the hospital wing, glancing at her watch. She moaned; it was getting late, and if she, Ron and Harry planned to get any work done tomorrow, she would have to get to bed soon. However, Hermione didn't have the faintest clue where to start - her faithful library had proved fruitless in the search for the supposed poison, and now they knew that their number one suspect was innocent. It was time to swallow their pride and ask Diana if she knew of a poison that could have done this to Dumbledore. Since they now knew that she was not behind the poisoning, there would be no harm in asking.

"Professor Granger?"

Hermione whirled around to see a thin girl standing behind her, still wearing her school robes. Hermione immediately recognized her as Rowan Richardson, a petite, red-haired Hufflepuff girl. She had taught Rowan only in third year. Though she was very quiet and hard-working, Arithmancy was not Rowan's strong point, and she had decided to drop it after third year. Now a seventh-year student, Rowan had never spoken to Professor Granger outside of class, being an extremely shy girl. Hermione was surprised to find Rowan outside the hospital wing, fiddling nervously with her necklace, at this time of night.

"Shouldn't you be in bed, Miss Richardson?" Hermione said with a frown. "It's well past curfew."

Rowan paled. "I know," she whispered quickly, glancing around the empty corridor, "but…but I…I was w-wondering if…if I could speak with you, Professor."

Hermione looked her up and down appraisingly. "Is…everything all right, Rowan?" she asked.

Rowan swallowed and shook her head, tight-lipped.

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, concerned. But before Rowan could reply, her eyes suddenly darted down the hall, where footsteps and voices were approaching.

"There you are, honeybee!" Charles chirped as he, Ron, and Harry approached. Behind Charles, the two Aurors were doubled up in silent laughter. Hermione shot them a glare before returning her attention to Rowan. The frightened girl had taken one look at Charles, Harry, and Ron, and then had quickly turned around and hurried off. Hermione called after her, but to no avail.

"Was that Row Richardson?" Ron said, watching as the seventh-year turned a corner and disappeared.

"What was that all about?" Harry asked.

"I think she was star-struck by you, Harry," Ron suggested. Harry elbowed him in the ribs, embarrassed. Hermione tried to return her attention to Charles, who seemed to be talking.

" - was just telling me that he'll be staying at Hogwarts for quite a while longer! Isn't that marvelous, sweetums? Why didn't you tell me he was here earlier?" Charles asked, beaming. Hermione noticed that there were patches of red on his handsome face, which looked flushed and excited. She could guess why; when they had first started seeing each other, Charles had often pressed her for stories about the great Harry Potter, who was one of his personal heroes, he had said. However, when he had noticed that the subject of Harry was a bit of a sore spot with Hermione, Charles had quickly learned to stop bringing it up.

"Yeah, sugarsmacks, why didn't you?" Ron asked Hermione innocently. Harry tried to stifle a laugh and ended up snorting instead. Charles maintained an oblivious, cheerful look as he enthusiastically shook Harry's hand again.

"Well, I must be off - " he began, but was interrupted by a loud squeal. Harry gasped as something grabbed him very tightly around his middle. Charles stumbled backwards, pushing up his glasses, and both Ron and Hermione instinctively drew their wands.

"Sorry, sirs and miss!" an all-too familiar voice squeaked. Something small and wrinkly, wearing a colourful assortment of clothing, had its brownish arms encircled tightly around Harry's stomach. "Please don't hurt Dobby!"

"Dobby?" Harry managed to choke out, which seemed to be very difficult, as Dobby was close to knocking the wind out of him. "Dobby let go, I can't breathe!"

"Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter!" Dobby apologized fervently, releasing Harry and darting around him to gaze up at his hero with huge, tennis ball-sized eyes. He was wearing the wildest assortment of clothing Hermione had ever seen - he seemed to have abandoned socks in favour of colourful, yarn mittens, which looked quite awkward on Dobby's strange, elfish feet. Hermione noted that the socks had not been discarded; rather, Dobby wore two mismatched socks on each hand. He had cut out holes to wiggle his fingers through. He wore a green and red kilt over purple leggings, which were obviously too long for him, and - Hermione stifled a giggle - a hot pink bikini over top of a multicoloured sweater. Finally, on his head was a tea towel, stamped with the Hogwarts crest.

"Hello, Dobby," Hermione said warmly, tucking her wand away. She suddenly felt a bit guilty. "Er…sorry I haven't been to visit you in awhile…" When she had begun working at Hogwarts, Hermione had made it a point to frequently visit the house-elves. Lately, however, she had been sort of pre-occupied, and hadn't been to visit in quite a long time.

"Hermione Granger should not worry!" Dobby chirruped happily. "Hermione Granger is very kind to house-elves. And Dobby is being very, very busy in the kitchens anyway." He swelled proudly. "Dobby is being made head elf in the kitchens!"

"Good for you, Dobby!" Hermione exclaimed. "That's wonderful!"

"Dobby is hearing that Ron Weezy is teaching at the school," Dobby told Ron, "but Dobby is head elf and is being very busy. Dobby is wanting to visit Weezy, but Dobby is having _responsibilities_," he said solemnly. His large eyes suddenly lit up as he turned to Harry. "But when Dobby is hearing that _Harry Potter_ is coming to Hogwarts, Dobby is _having to come see him for sure!"_

"Thanks, Dobby," Ron muttered sarcastically. "I feel loved."

A puzzled-looking Dobby glanced over at Charles, who was lurking somewhere in the background, clearly afraid that the house-elf might try to crush his ribs as well. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"He won't hurt you, Charles," she said pointedly, hands on her hips.

"Of course not!" Charles cleared his throat, straightening his glasses and taking a tentative step forward.

"Harry Potter," Dobby whispered, tugging on Harry's robes. "Dobby is having to tell you something."

"What is it, Dobby?" Harry asked kindly.

Dobby's eyes darted around, as if the corridor was filled with invisible people. "Not now," Dobby said, lowering his voice even more, "Harry Potter can come to the kitchens later?" he asked hopefully.

"Sure," Harry said slowly. Knowing Dobby, he was going to warn Harry that his life was in jeopardy again or something.

Dobby looked delighted again. "Dobby is having to go back to the kitchens now! Goodbye!" he called. With a sharp crack, he disappeared.

"Nutters," Ron said, shaking his head. "That elf's always been nutters." Hermione threw him a disapproving look, and he quickly fell silent.

"Well," Charles said presently, beaming and turning to Harry. "I'll be staying at the Pointy Hat in Hogsmeade for the weekend, so perhaps I'll see you soon, Mr. Potter! It was a pleasure to meet you, sir." He pumped Harry's hand again eagerly.

"Likewise," Harry managed to say, grinning wildly.

"Excellent, excellent…well, could I have a moment, peaches?" Charles inquired of Hermione. She blushed furiously as Ron and Harry snickered, but then reluctantly agreed. Hermione followed Charles back into the now-empty hospital wing.

"Darling," Charles began slowly, grasping Hermione's hands and looking into her eyes, "you've been quite…distant lately."

"Well I'm sorry if the Headmaster's ill, and the school is in a panic, and we thought it was her and it isn't, it can't be…" Hermione said very fast.

"I beg your pardon?" Charles asked, looking puzzled.

"Never mind," Hermione muttered.

Not sure what else to do, Charles gave Hermione a sympathetic smile and wrapped his arms around his girlfriend. Hermione stood there, her body very stiff, remembering the warm feeling she'd had when Ron had hugged her, or held her hand, or sat close to her. Hermione suddenly felt very cold inside. She remembered the feeling of dread that had descended upon her when Charles had told her he loved her, and the feeling of elation she'd secretly had, years before, when Ron had kissed her that fateful night in the Gryffindor common room. Hermione slowly pulled away from Charles, a strange expression on her face. This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

"Charles," Hermione began slowly, "I…I really care about you…"

Charles brightened and beamed, clasping her hands. "And I you, honeybear."

Hermione shook her head and closed her eyes. "But not in _that_ way, Charles," she whispered sadly.

Charles furrowed his eyebrows, blinking. "Pardon?" he asked slowly.

"I…I just don't want you to continue to think that…you know…when I don't feel the same way," Hermione said with great effort. "It's just…not fair to you."

Charles looked puzzled and hurt. "Hermione, I – "

"I don't think we should see each other any more," Hermione said softly. "It's not fair to you, or to me."

Charles let go of her hands, as if they had burned him, and stared at her.

"I'm so, _so sorry," Hermione whispered, and then she hurried out of the hospital wing, leaving a startled and motionless Charles Griney behind her._

Harry and Ron were waiting outside the door, talking in low voices amongst themselves. Both broke into identical grins as Hermione emerged. "Hey there, sweetcheeks," Ron snickered. 

"How'd it go, sugarquill?" Harry asked, trying to suppress laughter. Apparently the two of them had spent the entire time alone creating Charles-like nicknames to embarrass her.

"We broke up," Hermione replied flatly. Both Harry and Ron looked surprised; then a strange expression crossed over Ron's face as Harry looked immensely guilty.

"Hermione…" Harry tried awkwardly, "I…I'm sorry…we didn't…"

"I'm going to bed," Hermione interrupted, her face expressionless. "Goodnight."

Spinning on her heel and feeling horribly guilty as she remembered the look on Charles' face, Hermione headed down the corridor and left Harry and Ron standing there stupidly.

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Did anyone else notice that I randomly inserted a character that was previously not in this story into there so that Perfect World would make sense? Yeah. Go foreshadowing.

Review!


	15. Euphoria

**Author's Notes:** In the old school version of this fic, this chapter had a slight error. It seemed that the students were sent to their common rooms, and five minutes later, they were magically getting out of class in order to cause commotion and get in the trio's way. Of course, I fixed the error for this version, but just to defend myself, there _was an explanation for the error that occurred in the old version. To quote _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of A Cabana_:_

  
"Plot device, Seamus. Plot device."

Enjoy. ^_^

***

Hermione awoke late the next morning. She had slept fitfully, and awoke feeling a bizarre sense of relief, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Hermione lay there in bed, quite comfortable and warm. Lazily, she stretched her arms over her head – and then she remembered the conversation with Charles from last night.

A fresh wave of guilt washed over Hermione, who reminded herself that it was for the best. It was far crueler to let Charles continue to think that she loved him, when she did not…could not. Not particularly in the mood to go down to the Great Hall and face Harry and Ron after what had happened last night, Hermione rolled over in bed. After a few seconds of unsuccessfully attempting to fall back asleep, she promptly decided that avoiding her friends would not accomplish anything. The three of them had work to do. Reluctantly, Professor Granger clambered out of bed, and was soon on her way to the Great Hall.

A few students were scattered around the Great Hall, enjoying buttered toast, pancakes, and sausages - the house-elves' breakfast specialties. Hermione quickly spotted Ron and Harry, who stood out like sore thumbs; Ron's bright red hair was blatantly obvious anywhere, and the two of them were far taller than any of the students. They were sitting at the Gryffindor house table ("I'd feel too weird sitting with the teachers at the Head Table," Harry had confessed the day before) and were speaking in low voices. They seemed to be startled when Hermione sat down.

"Sorry," she said in a business-like tone, reaching for a slice of toast and buttering it, "I slept in."

"Slept in?! It's only eight o'clock!" Ron began incredulously. Harry shot him a look, and he quickly shut his mouth. The two of them were strangely quiet for the rest of breakfast, speaking to Hermione in slow, quiet voices, and being oddly formal. At one point, Ron started speaking about the Ministry, and then abruptly looked like he had swallowed something sour and never finished his sentence.

"So I was thinking we could talk to Diana about the poison theory today," Hermione said casually out of nowhere.

Ron promptly spit out his coffee, spraying the scalding hot liquid all over Harry, who swore and jumped to his feet. A few curious glances were thrown their way as Harry mopped up the front of his robes, now stained an ugly shade of brown, with a napkin.

"What?" Ron managed to splutter after recovering. "No!"

"Why not?" Hermione exclaimed, sounding a bit hurt. Beside her, Harry's eyes flashed; it was obviously a warning to Ron, who pursed his lips together and looked guilty.

"I dunno," he murmured lamely. It seemed as if both of them had been be trying to dance around the delicate subject of the break-up, afraid of mentioning anything to do with Charles, or of angering or hurting Hermione in the slightest. Hermione slammed down her fork, looking irritated. Ron and Harry both cringed.

"I'm all right, you know," Hermione said, annoyed. "You don't have to keep treating me like I'm going to burst into tears any second now. I'm fine, really."

"Oh…we weren't…" Harry trailed off as Ron turned red and suddenly became very interested in the Gryffindor table. But they both started acting considerably more normal after that. The subject of Diana was dropped, and the rest of breakfast was quite pleasant, if uneventful.

***

She paused at the entrance, shivering in the chilly corridor. An icy cold draft stealthily made its way up from the darkness beneath the stairs. She took an abrupt step backwards as the draft extinguished one of the few torches dully illuminating the stairway. The cold seemed almost unbearable now.

Setting her jaw stubbornly, she made up her mind. What had to be done had to be done. Bravely, she took a small step onto the first step. Her foot wavered uncertainly over the next one. There was a strange ringing in her ears, which slowly morphed into a piercing shriek, a dying scream. Inhaling sharply, she took a step backwards, and breathed again as she found herself safely back on the landing. She stared into the inky darkness below her. It stared back at her, as if daring her to set foot down there. She bit her lip until she tasted blood; she had come so far this year, only to be daunted by a place, a shadow of a memory.

Why wouldn't her feet move? They must have been frozen to the spot by that air…that frigid, stale air coming from below her - 

"Professor Granger?" said a sickly sweet voice in her ear.

Hermione clapped her hand over her own mouth to keep from screaming. Eyes wide, she turned around to see Diana Drago standing on the step behind her, a smirk on her face.

"You're blocking the entrance to my classroom," Diana pointed out wryly. There were a few snickers and giggles from the class standing behind her. They had obviously been waiting to get into the dungeons for quite some time now. Embarrassed but not fazed, Hermione haughtily climbed back up the two steps she had worked so hard to get down, scowling at the murmuring, giggling students. Their whispers quickly seized as they noticed the Arithmancy professor glaring acidly at them.

"Could I have a word?" Hermione asked Diana, trying to keep her cool.

She had decided that she was an independent adult, and that she did not need Ron's permission to ask a fellow teacher for help. So Hermione had purposefully strolled down to the dungeons after breakfast, only to find herself still frozen at the entrance half an hour later. And all for nothing…Diana had not been down there anyway. As Hermione stared at the dark-haired potions mistress, she almost saw the phantom of a frightened young girl desperately trying to ignore her father's screams. Hermione blinked and shook her head to clear it, and there stood Professor Drago again, a sneer painted on her lips.

"I suppose," Diana answered offhandedly. She turned to her class, which consisted of Hufflepuffs and Slytherins. "Get down there and set up your cauldrons. You'll need to chop those dead spiders from yesterday into a very fine dust, so get started. Yes, even you, Parsons," she snapped in the direction of a contemptuous-looking Slytherin boy with slick, black hair. "Frankly, I don't care if your daddy has loads of gold, you're gonna chop spiders like the rest of them."

Professor Drago glanced around expectantly at the other students. "I'm sorry, perhaps I wasn't clear. I said _chop!_" she ordered. The students hurried down the dreaded stairs, and Diana returned her attention to Hermione. "And what brings Professor Granger to the second dungeon step today?" she asked, smirking.

The fresh memory of the same woman, years before, rocking back and forth and shaking in fear was the only thing that kept Hermione from strangling her. "I came to speak to you about Professor Dumbledore," she replied shortly.

  
A strange look flickered over Diana's face, but quickly disappeared. "I hear they took him to St. Mungo's," she said emotionlessly. "Took them long enough to figure out that Pomfrey isn't fit to take care of a sock, never mind sick people."

"You and I both know that the headmaster isn't sick," Hermione said quietly, arms folded. 

Diana started, surprised, but quickly recovered. "What exactly are you implying, Granger?" she demanded coolly, arching an eyebrow.

"I'm implying that you're not quite as stupid as you look," Hermione retorted, surprising even herself. 

Diana looked mildly impressed by her challenging tone of voice. "You think Dumbledore's loony cursed him." It was a statement, not a question.

"No, I think that the loony _poisoned_ him," Hermione responded. A strange look of realization slowly seemed to cross Diana's face, but it was hastily replaced with an expressionless look once more.

"That's impossible," Diana said curtly. She then spun around and started down the stairs, clearly indicating that the conversation was over. But Hermione was not so easily brushed off.

"You think it's him too, don't you?" Hermione called. Diana froze on the steps, and slowly turned to face Hermione again.

"Who?" she asked in a cool, but strained voice.

"Your father," Hermione said quietly.

Diana breathed in sharply, a look of surprise and fury on her face. "How do you know about my father?" she hissed, her ashen cheeks now flushed.

"That's not important," Hermione replied dismissively. "Why do you say it's impossible?"

Diana hesitated, her eyes searching Hermione's face, as if trying to decide if she was trustworthy or not. After seeming to fight an internal conflict, she finally spoke. "My father couldn't make a potion if his life depended on it," Diana told her. A bitter smile played across her face. "Which is why I went into the field."

"But there _is a potion?" Hermione said breathlessly, her eyes alight. "A poison…that could…"_

"Yes," Diana answered after a long silence.

Hermione looked about ready to jump up and down in excitement. "_Really? Amazing, I've never heard of one, and all the books in the library - "_

Diana gave a cold, harsh laugh that didn't reach her eyes. "That's because you've been reading the wrong books. The restricted section here is nothing compared to the books we were required to study at Durmstrang," she said sourly. "There are some things they didn't teach you here - some things that kids shouldn't know…" She smiled grimly. "Karkaroff was my headmaster for only a few years. He ran off during my third year, but it was enough."

Hermione was itching to ask Diana all about the poison (and if there was an antidote). Her thirst for knowledge and her eagerness to aid Dumbledore were combining together to make her very impatient. But she didn't dare interrupt her colleague.

"There is a poison," Diana continued quietly, "which causes a slow, painful death. It eats away at a person - their health, their sanity, their strength - until finally, unconsciousness is almost a relief. The victim slips into a comatose state. But the pain doesn't end there…they suffer in their own sort of hell, trapped inside their own mind, their own pain. And then death…" Diana's cold eyes met Hermione's again, and they actually looked afraid. "Death is never far off after that."

"Is there an antidote?" Hermione finally choked out, her chest heaving as she took deep, calming breaths. To think that the headmaster…that Albus was having to suffer through that…

"There is only one antidote," Diana said flatly, "and that is to kill the poisoner. The thing that makes the potion so harmful is the final ingredient - the blood of the killer. The murderer and the victim are bonded together once the victim has consumed enough of the poison; the murderer can eventually control his victim's pain, decide when the coma begins…even decide when they die. It only ends when the bond is broken…when one of them is killed."

"What….what's this poison called?" Hermione asked, her throat dry.

"Euphoria," Diana answered. She suddenly shook her head, the grave look on her face fading. "But it's impossible. Clever theory, Granger, but the brewing of the potion…it's far too complicated. And the ingredients needed…it's impossible," she repeated firmly.

"Just because your father failed Potions?" Hermione exclaimed, a little too loudly. Her eyes slowly became very round as she thought of something. "What if…what if he had help?"

This thought took a moment to sink in for Diana, but when it did, her face contorted into an expression of horror. Slow, painful understanding dawned on her. "Donovan…" she said hoarsely, suddenly paler than usual. 

Hermione swallowed painfully, a lump forming in her throat. Never had the threat against the headmaster, against Hogwarts, felt so real.

***

"That's powerful Dark magic," Harry said grimly. "Anything that bonds the killer to their victim is. This guy would have to be pretty sick…"

Harry and Hermione were sitting at the end of the Gryffindor house table, waiting for Ron to finish his last class of the day. The enchanted ceiling was already beginning to turn a dark orange colour, streaked with hints of pink and yellow. Hermione had already told Harry everything she had learned (though she didn't mention where she had learned it from, and thankfully, Harry hadn't asked yet), speaking in a hushed tone but attracting many curious stares from the Gryffindors nonetheless. Perhaps it was the fact that two adults - one who just so happened to be Harry Potter - were sitting at their house table.

"I'm here," Ron announced, sliding onto the bench and settling himself next to Hermione. He glanced from her to Harry; their faces were both grim.

"What is it?" Ron asked, lowering his voice and bending his head a bit, until all their heads were huddled together across the table. Hermione repeated everything she had just told Harry, conveniently leaving out where she had acquired all this information, making it sound as if she had just stumbled upon the knowledge. Once she had finished, Ron's face was pale but a look of fury and loathing was reflected in his blue eyes.

"Antidote or not, I'd kill him anyway," Ron growled furiously. "That sick - " A string of swear words followed. Hermione nudged Ron forcefully in the ribs as a group of Gryffindor third-years started giggling uncontrollably.

"Wait a second," Ron abruptly said as he rubbed where Hermione had elbowed him. He slowly turned to her. "How did you…" he began slowly, but Hermione's face gave it away. "You asked her, didn't you?" he accused loudly.

"So what?" Hermione shot back defensively. "I found out what we needed to know, didn't I?"

"What does _she think, Hermione?" Harry cut in before his two friends could start bickering._

"Diana suspects her father too," she replied in a soft voice. "But she said that Euphoria is very complicated to brew, and that Potions was never her father's strong point - "

Ron gave a derisive snort.

"But," Hermoine continued, ignoring him, "he could have had help."

"Donovan Owens," Harry said flatly. "I knew the Ministry shouldn't have just given up on those two so easily…oh yeah, they escaped into the forest and we haven't heard from them in awhile, so they _must_ be dead…"

"Shh, Harry," Hermione murmured as Diana swept past them, towards the Head Table. She looked as cool and collected as ever, Hermione noted, as if their conversation a few hours ago had never happened.

"So?" Ron prompted them, obviously itching to take action now that they were one step closer to helping the headmaster. "What do we do now?"

Hermione was thinking very hard; her eyebrows were furrowed, her forehead was wrinkled in thought, and she was absently chewing on her bottom lip. "I don't know," she confessed after a few moments of this. "I suppose if we found out _how they were poisoning Albus…or how exactly they got into the castle…we'd be one step closer to - "_

"Where is the _food?" a Gryffindor boy beside them complained loudly, breaking Hermione's train of thought. "It should've been sent up here half an hour ago!"_

True to his word, the enchanted ceiling was now completely dark, and stars were beginning to emerge from the blackness, twinkling down at them. Harry stared at his plate, as if expecting it to do something.

"He's right, it is late," Harry mused. "Wonder what…"

"Oh _no," Hermione breathed, clapping a hand to her mouth. A dazed, dreamy expression had come over her face - it was the kind of look she had just before she made a connection in her speedy brain. Before Harry and Ron could ask her what it was, the door to the Great Hall burst open. A pale Minerva McGonagall walked briskly into the Great Hall, her left eye twitching sporadically. The three adults at the Gryffindor table hastily stood up to meet her, and the teachers seated at the head table quickly hurried over to the deputy headmistress._

"Calm the students, and then get them safely up to their common rooms," she whispered urgently, her lip trembling slightly. "There's been another attack."

Hermione went very still, and an alarmed Ron clenched his fists. "Where? On who?" he demanded.

"In the kitchens," McGonagall replied hoarsely as a few teachers hurried off to speak to the prefects, and calm the alarmed students. "One of the house-elves has been Petrified."

Hermione took in a shaky breath. Professor McGonagall had said exactly what she had feared. Harry's eyes widened as he suddenly made the connection as well.

"Oh no," he groaned. "Dobby."

Hermione glanced over at the mass of alarmed students and caught a glimpse of Rowan Richardson. The red-haired seventh-year was staring back at her, pale as a ghost.

***

"All this time, it was right in front of our faces!" Hermione moaned in frustration. She had calmed somewhat since the initial shock of hearing about the attack, and now she, Harry, and Ron were following an extremely tired and troubled Professor McGonagall towards the kitchens. Apparently, the house-elves were all in a state of panic, and McGonagall seemed to think that Hermione - who had always had a way with the house-elves - could calm them. This worked out extremely well, as what the three of them really wanted to do was question the elves.

"The whole time, we were wondering how he could've poisoned Dumbledore," Harry fumed as they headed towards the kitchens, "and it was so obvious! Everything he eats comes from the kitchens, and you know the house-elves - they're so eager to help that they wouldn't have asked any questions if someone waltzed into the kitchens and asked them to slip something into Dumbledore's food. He probably made up some story about it being Dumbledore's medicine or something - "

"Will you two explain to me what in the blazes you're talking about?" Ron hissed, glancing up at McGonagall. She soundlessly turned a corner, apparently too pre-occupied in her own thoughts to take heed of their whispered conversation. Professor McGonagall didn't need to be worried any more than she already was, with two attacks and a deathly ill headmaster on her hands.

"_Dobby, Ron!" Hermione whispered back. "He had to tell Harry something, remember? Obviously Alonso Drago's been giving the house-elves the poison, telling them that it's for Dumbledore. And they're such simple-minded creatures, so willing to help…they wouldn't have suspected anything, the poor things…"_

"But Dobby obviously did," Harry continued grimly. "Dobby's not like the others. He'd caught on. He was going to tell me…argh! Why didn't I take him seriously? I never _did_ go down to the kitchens to talk to him - "

Harry abruptly stopped talking as the four of them stopped in front of the fruit portrait. Hermione winced as she heard the unmistakable sound of elfish wailing over top of the clatter of breaking dishes. A nerve was bulging in McGonagall's neck as she reached out and tickled the pear.

The Transfiguration professor, along with Harry, Ron, and Hermione, cringed as utter pandemonium greeted them. A group of house-elves were huddled in the corner, attempting to console a wrinkly brown thing that was undoubtedly Winky. Her wails carried over top of the frequent, high-pitched screams being emitted by several of the creatures. Many had flattened themselves against the walls, their already huge eyes even large and terrified, and their small bodies trembling violently. And in the midst of it all, Peeves was zooming around the kitchens, trying to make an already horrible situation even worse, and reveling in it. Cackling evilly, he was throwing dishes, pots, pans - anything that made a loud noise when dropped - at the screaming house-elves, who had begun to fling themselves under tables and chairs for cover.

"Peeves!" McGonagall hollered furiously over the din, wisps of brown hair falling out of her tight bun. "Get down here this _instant!_"

But it seemed Peeves was having too much fun to listen even to the temporary headmistress - if anything he increased the volume of his cackling and jeering, and threw down a rather enormous glass bowl which shattered spectacularly and caused glass to go flying everywhere.

_"Goddamn polter - _Phantasmal Petrificus!_" Ron suddenly bellowed furiously, pointing his wand in Peeve's direction. A strange, pearly white light burst forth from his wand and passed right through Peeves, who was laughing hysterically at the thought of a spell harming him. However, just as he thought Ron's curse had harmlessly gone right through him, Peeves suddenly froze, still doubled over from laughing. Unmoving, he floated to the top of the kitchens in that same strange position, finally floating right through the ceiling. A few of the bolder elves ventured to peek out from whatever they were using as cover, parting their bat-like ears, which had been covering their eyes, so that they could see if Peeves was truly gone._

"That was _amazing!" Hermione said breathlessly despite herself, turning to Ron. "I didn't know there was a spell that could harm a poltergeist!"_

Ron looked quite pleased with himself, but his smugness was short-lived; his expression changed to a solemn one as Harry spoke.

  
"Where…where's Dobby?" Harry asked as he glanced around, his voice betraying the fondness he had for the strange elf, no matter how much the creature seemed to annoy him. Winky started wailing again.

"Oh, don't go mentioning Dobby; you'll upset them," Hermione murmured, taking a step forward. "It's all right," she told the elves in a soft, soothing voice. "Peeves has gone away now."

"Dobby's been taken to the hospital wing," Hermione heard Professor McGonagall tell Harry quietly. "Madam Pomfrey nearly had a heart attack when we told her he was Petrified too…but she's agreed to take care of him."

The house-elves were now slowly coming out of their hiding places and were gathering around Hermione, still shaking badly. Re-adjusting their Hogwarts tea towels, they seemed to suddenly be embarrassed by the way they had just behaved in front of their new mistress, Professor McGonagall.

"W-we is sorry Professor M'Gongal had to see that," one of the females squeaked, shivering. "The h-house elves is not d-doing their jobs for you. No worries, no worries…w-we is cleaning up this mess straight away, s-sirs and misses…"

"No, no, it's all right," Hermione said warmly, in the same soothing tone. "Ron and Harry will clean this up for you," she assured them, gesturing to her friends, who already had their wands out and had put several broomsticks to work sweeping up the debris. "I'd like to have a word with you all…"

The house-elves, however, were looking shocked and appalled that the two humans were cleaning the mess. A few of them made a move to go help, but Hermione's steady gaze kept them where they were.

"Now," Hermione said gently, after allowing the elves a moment to calm down somewhat. "Could you tell me what happened to Dobby?"

  
A few of them squeaked and hid their eyes behind their overlarge ears again. Winky started sobbing again. Hermione bit her lip and tenderly reached out to rub Winky's head, behind the ears. She'd discovered this was a helpful trick for calming the excitable house-elves, and soon Winky was only sniffling quietly.

"Pappy saw what happened, miss," one house-elf spoke up shyly. After murmured agreements, an extremely wrinkled house-elf was brought to the front of the group, hobbling on a stick that looked as if it had once been a long, wooden spoon. Hermione noticed that his eyes were partly shut, and he seemed to be gazing around through his half-closed lids in a good-natured sort of way, as if he didn't really know where he was.

"Eh?" Pappy squeaked hoarsely. His voice seemed to not be as high-pitched as the voices of the other house-elves. He was obviously very old. "Oh, Dobby, Dobby…" he wheezed in realization. "Oh, yes…Pappy is telling Dobby to be staying away from that Draco, but Dobby isn't listening!"

The broom Ron had been controlling suddenly clattered to the ground, making a few of the house-elves squeak in terror.

"_Malfoy?" he shouted incredulously, his eyes flashing._

"No, no, the Draco that is always giving Dobby Professor Dumblydore's medicine!" one of the elves piped up bravely.

"Medicine?" Hermione said slowly. Harry had guessed correctly. Harry had also stopped swishing his wand around, and now he, Ron, and Professor McGonagall were listening, transfixed, to the group of elves clustered around Hermione.

"The purple medicine," Pappy told her matter-of-factly. "The one Dobby is putting in Professor Dumblydore's food."

Professor McGonagall's eyes widened, and her hand flew to her mouth.

"Dobby is going to light the fires in the dungeons," Pappy told Hermione gravely, leaning heavily on his stick. "And Pappy is being sent to go gets Dobby, because it is almost supper-time! And then Pappy is seeing Draco pull out her magic stick, and Dobby…" he blinked heavily, looking grave. "Dobby go _boom," he said solemnly, making a motion with his hand as if to indicate someone falling down. Winky started to cry softly again._

"Do you mean _Drago, Pappy?" Hermione asked kindly, trying to keep the sense of urgency out of her voice. "A man named Drago? What does he look like?"_

"Not he, miss, _she!" a tiny, female elf squeaked helpfully. "Draco, miss, Draco! The potions Draco! Professor Draco!"_

"_Diana Drago?" Hermione breathed, astonished. The elves all bobbed their heads in unison._

"Pappy is telling Dobby to stay away from that Draco!" Pappy repeated again. "And now that lady is hurting Dobby! Poor Dobby is freezed!"

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That'd be a really good cliffhanger if the next chapter wasn't posted immediately after this one. Darn.


	16. The Dungeons

**Author's Notes:** A lot of my author's notes seem to have a lot to do with different types of pop, or, for my American friends, "soda". Vanilla Coke, Blue Pepsi, the works. Just a random observation in order to put something at the beginning of this chapter. I have no life.

Big changes in this chapter, many of them for the better, I think. Props to Night Zephyr for all her help on this one. ^_^

***

"I don't understand," Hermione said slowly to Pappy, her forehead creased. Behind her, Ron, Harry, and Professor McGonagall were standing very still, with their mouths hanging open. "_Professor Drago_ has been the one poison - er, giving Professor Dumbledore his medicine? And she was the one who Petrified Dobby?"

Pappy bobbed his ancient, wrinkly head up and down. Ron took an abrupt step forwards, as if to question the elderly elf, but Harry shot out an arm and held him back.

"That's impossible," McGonagall spoke up sharply, seeming to have gathered her wits again. "Professor Drago would _never_ harm the headmaster..."

"'Twas her, for sure!" one of the elves chimed. He suddenly looked bashful at addressing Professor McGonagall in such a manner, and hung his head. However, the rest of the elves all murmured their agreements.

"We is all seeing her come in many times to give Dobby the medicine," another added. "And then Dobby is getting suspicious, and Dobby is agreeing with Pappy that she is a bad, bad, witch."

"I don't understand…" Hermione repeated softly to herself, in considerable distress. She slowly rose from her kneeling position and turned to Harry and Ron, searching their faces for answers. But they looked just as confused as she did.

"There must have been a mistake," Professor McGonagall was saying now. Hermione noted that she sounded slightly less sure of herself this time, but it could have been her imagination. Hermione suddenly realized with a start that Diana's father had been one of the people who had tortured Minerva McGonagall all those years ago. And yet McGonagall had worked with Alonso's daughter for nearly seven years, never showing any ill will or hate towards her. Hermione marveled at this fact, her respect for her former teacher increasing even more.

McGonagall had now turned to the two Aurors. "One of you, please fetch Professor Drago and bring her here - "

"With all due respect, Professor," Ron said grimly, "I think the time for niceties is over." He drew his wand, as did Harry and, reluctantly, Hermione. "Shall we?"

A wordless nod from each of them, and despite Professor McGonagall's confused spluttering, they swiftly left the kitchen.

"Where…where are we going?" Hermione asked weakly, looking from Ron to Harry. The two Aurors exchanged glances.

"The dungeons," they said in unison, as if sharing a brain. Hermione stifled a whimper, but nodded silently. Ron reached out and squeezed her hand tightly, then reluctantly let go as the three of them started walking rapidly towards the dungeons.

"Still - I don't understand," Harry echoed Hermione, shaking his head as they hurried through the winding corridors. "Why would she want to hurt Dumbledore? And then why would she tell Hermione about the poison? It doesn't make any sense…"

"It makes plenty of sense," Ron said rather harshly. "I was right from the beginning, that's all."

"But Ron," Hermione whispered, her mouth twitching as if she was going to cry. "The Pensieve…"

"There must have been something we over-looked," Ron replied, narrowing his eyes as he thought hard. He suddenly shook his head, the thoughtful expression disappearing. "But it doesn't matter…the house-elves have no reason to lie…"

"Diana!" Hermione suddenly called, without thinking. She had just spotted the Potions Mistress hurrying in the same direction they were: to the dungeons.

If there had been any doubt left in Hermione's mind that Diana was the culprit, it vanished as Professor Drago cast a surprised - almost guilty - look backwards, then spun around and began to run, her black robes billowing out behind her. Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed in hot pursuit, their wands thrust out in front of them.

"_Arettementa__!" Hermione cried. The thin stream of light which erupted from her wand narrowly missed Drago, and caused one of the statues lining the halls to topple over and fall to the floor with a crash. Diana turned a corner, glancing backwards at her pursuers. The three of them sped around the same corner, their feet pounding on the marble floors. They burst into a wider corridor, filled with students still hurrying up to their common rooms on Professor McGonagall's orders. Alarmed and confused students began jumping out of the way as their Arithmancy professor and the two Aurors chased Diana Drago down the hall, their wands pointed at her back._

"_Arresti__ paralus!" Ron bellowed, roughly shoving a student out of his way. He swore loudly as his curse also missed the fleeing Potions Mistress. "__Plummetus__ capitulate!" he hollered in frustration. Again, a miss._

"_Descenda__!" Harry tried, flinging his body forward a bit mid-run, as if this would somehow aid the spell in hitting his target. Instead, the hex barely grazed the top of a first-year girl's head. The smell of singed hair filled the corridor as the tiny, blonde first-year gasped and screamed. She frantically felt the top of her head, and then was promptly pulled out of the adults' path by one of her friends._

"Not around the students!" Hermione panted, flinging out her arm while still running to prevent Harry or Ron from trying to curse Diana again. Ron clenched his free fist, digging his nails into his palm, but obeyed. The frantic chase continued, through a few more corridors, which were now packed with alarmed and frightened students. The three pursuers suddenly lost Diana's jet black hair in the crowd.

"Argh!" Ron shouted, his face red from running. "Get out of the way!" he ordered the students, who hastily obeyed.

"There she is!" Hermione yelled, pointing wildly in the direction of a dark head of hair. She and Ron began running after her again.

"No, there she goes!" Harry shouted, abruptly changing course. Ron and Hermione did a double take; on their right, Diana Drago was pounding down the steps leading to the dungeons, and on their left, Diana Drago was disappearing around a corner in a blur of black robes and long, black hair.

"What…the bloody hell…" Ron choked out, his eyes wide. He shook his head to clear it, seeming to recover. "You take that one, we'll take this one!" he hollered to Harry, ignoring the fact that Diana seemed to have a long-lost twin for the moment. Nodding, Harry took off after the Diana closest to him. Hermione yelped as Ron grabbed her hand and hurried after the second Professor Drago. Hermione noticed, though she herself was trembling with fear, that Ron hesitated slightly at the dungeon steps. But he briefly closed his eyes, then began running down the stairs, his jaw set in determination. Hermione stood, transfixed, on the landing.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron coaxed, turning around and holding out his hand to her. He had a look of desperation on his face, but his eyes were resolute. "We'll lose her, come on…you can do it…"

Seeing the look of determination in Ron's eyes, Hermione squeezed her own eyes shut, took his hand, and then started running down the dungeon steps as fast as she could, her legs moving of their own accord.

They flew down the dungeon stairs, their feet barely grazing the cold stone steps. The two professors were slapped by icy cold air once they finally reached the bottom, but their efforts had not been in vain; they just managed to catch a glimpse of a cloak disappearing through the heavy, wooden door next to where the cauldrons were stacked before the massive door was thrown shut with a resounding slam. Ron threw himself at the door, tugging at it frantically. Hermione stood some feet behind him, exceptionally grateful that her shock and confusion of the moment made her feel numb. The numbness was bliss - because if she had been able to register where she was and what she was doing, the young witch was pretty sure she would have been paralyzed with fear. 

A hollered, "_Alohomora__!" from Ron, and the door, which had always been locked and forbidden during their school days, promptly swung open. Casting a wordless glance back at Hermione to see if she was all right, Ron dashed through the door with Hermione on his heels._

Once again, if it had not been for the blissful numbness, Hermione would have felt extremely revolted. Finally she saw that the dungeons were aptly named. She and Ron were scrambling through a long, dark corridor with what looked like ancient prison cells on either side. Obviously, they had not been used in years - in fact, she knew this from _Hogwarts: A History._ The castle, in medieval times, had actually been the home of a long succession of wizard royalty, including the infamous queen, Vizelda the Vile - but it was still disturbing to know that the school still housed such facilities. In some of the cells, Hermione could see chains and shackles. And in one, to Hermione's disgust, there still lay what was unmistakably a skeleton, covered in bits of debris and dirt.

"Did you know that this was down here?" Ron panted, still running. A note of disgust was obvious even through his gasps for breath.

"I wish I hadn't," Hermione gasped back, remembering the horrible tales of torture she had read about. They had been committed in these cells. Thankfully, Vizelda had been overthrown a few years into her reign, and - Hermione suddenly winced as she felt pain shoot through her side. She held the stitch in her side with one hand, breathing hard through her mouth. The only thing that kept her going was Diana's rapid footsteps ahead of them, echoing off the dank, stone walls. But why…and where…was she running?

  
Hermione suddenly cried out as she tripped over something and fell to the ground, face-first. She flinched as she felt the rough, gravelly ground tear open her cheek. Warm blood started oozing out of the wound, dripping to the floor below her. Ron stopped running and yelled out her name, abruptly changing direction. He bent down to help her up, gingerly touching the large cut on her face. Even Hermione could sense that it was deep, and most likely riddled with gravel and dirt from the ground.

"I'm fine," Hermione huffed, brushing Ron's hand away. "Ron, she's getting away!" she cried out in alarm as Diana's footsteps became fainter.

"You sure you're fine?" Ron's voice was worried, but he was obviously anxious to continue the chase. This dungeon labyrinth had to end somewhere, and then Diana would have nowhere to hide. "I can fix you up really quick, you know - " Ron held up his wand.

Hermione gave a short laugh and pushed his wand away. "No, I'd like to keep my nose, thank you," she tried to say sarcastically. But there was a definite wobble to her voice.

"All right…let's go," Ron agreed, almost reluctantly. Ron took her hand in his, and they set off at a frantic run again.

  
The passageway was now beginning to twist and turn, often abruptly and unexpectedly, and the sparse light in the corridor was becoming even dimmer as they continued. Still, the two of them scrambled along, flecks of blood flying out of Hermione's cut, leaving a sickly, crimson trail on the ground behind her.

Quite unexpectedly, Ron stopped running. He stood very still and cocked his head, as if listening carefully for something. Hermione slowed to a jog, and then stopped altogether, breathing heavily. After a few moments, she finally heard what Ron heard – silence.

"She's stopped running," he whispered. During the entire chase, the sound of Diana's footsteps ahead of them had echoed loudly, bouncing off the stone walls of the labyrinth. Now the only sounds that could be heard were an eerie dripping sound, and Hermione and Ron's breathing.

"She must have come to a dead end," Hermione panted. "She must be hiding…up ahead…"

Ron moaned, then crouched over and rested his hands on his knees, breathing hard. Hermione was in no better shape; her face was shiny with sweat, her hair was tousled and damp, and she was shivering with cold…or perhaps fright. She seemed to have been shocked into reality by the jarring impact of her fall, and the blissful numbness had faded. 

Ron finally straightened. Taking a deep breath, he held his wand in front of him and looked ahead warily. "Come on," he murmured, walking slowly forward. "Get your wand out, and keep on your guard."

Hermione obeyed, her heart thudding painfully against her ribs, and the two of them silently moved forward through the stone passageway. They heard no other telltale footsteps, save for their own. The torches along the walls were becoming few and far between, but the torches that they did see cast flickering shadows that began to look like figures in black robes after awhile. Hermione's hands trembled as she slowly followed Ron, whose head would snap around at the faintest sound. He paused warily, eyes darting around in the darkness, and then turned a corner. Hermione stopped behind him as he suddenly came to a halt. She peered over his shoulder and groaned inwardly.

Ahead of them was a fork in the path.

"Which way did she go?" Hermione whispered, even though she knew that Ron was as clueless as she was.

"I don't know," Ron muttered despondently. He ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair and started pacing, swearing under his breath.

"Well," Hermione finally said, unable to keep her voice from wavering slightly, "it's obvious what…what we have to do…"

"No, Hermione," Ron said firmly, stopping in his tracks. Even in the dim, flickering light Hermione could see his eyes flash determinedly. His breathing had returned to normal, and he looked much more formidable as he drew himself up to his full height.

"I'll go left, you go right," Hermione continued shakily.

"No!" Ron said sharply. "Listen, I can Apparate in the castle…I'll just Apparate down both ways, and check if – "

"Are you mad?!" Hermione shrieked. "You can't possibly Apparate if you don't know exactly where you're going, Auror's privileges or not! You'll be splinched!"

"Well it's safer than you going off alone!" Ron argued.

"I am _not a damsel in distress, Ron!" Hermione said shrilly, hands on her hips. "I may not be an Auror but I can take care of myself!" She jutted out her jaw stubbornly, trying to look as brave as possible and failing miserably._

Ron looked her up and down appraisingly, obviously not convinced. But there was no other way, and he knew it. There was a very long silence, in which Ron stared into the darkness down the left path, as if trying to judge if Diana was lurking down there somewhere. "Fine," Ron finally stated, his voice betraying worry and anxiety about this change of plans.

"If one of us is in trouble, we'll send out a warning to find the other," Hermione decided, her hand trembling as she flicked her wand to demonstrate. Red sparks burst forth from her wand, accompanied by a sound reminiscent of fireworks. The sparks immediately sped towards Ron, disappearing after they had stopped in front of him, briefly illuminating his face. He nodded stiffly, apparently thinking the same thing Hermione was - what if they were in a situation where they couldn't send out sparks? But neither said anything.

"All right. See you in a bit," Hermione said, trying to inject false confidence into her voice. As she took a step towards her chosen path, not daring to look back lest she lose her nerve, she felt Ron's hand abruptly shoot out and grab her wrist.

"Wait," Ron said. His voice sounded oddly strained. He was breathing hard again, which was odd, because the athletic Auror seemed to have caught his breath earlier. "Hermione…I…I meant what I said before." The words tumbled out rapidly.

"What, that you were right about Diana all along?" Hermione asked impatiently.

"No, _before_ before." Ron's voice sounded hoarse. "In the…in the common room that night…I meant…I meant that I love you. And I…I still do."

The fear that had seeped into Hermione back on the dungeon steps was suddenly replaced by a strange, dizzy sensation. She felt a rather large lump lodge itself in her throat. Ron abruptly pulled her towards him, clinging to her dusty robes. And then everything - Diana, Alonso, Dobby, even Dumbledore - was swept from Hermione's mind as Ron suddenly pressed his warm lips to hers. Surprise and shock faded quickly as Hermione automatically kissed him back, feeling him run his fingers through her rather disheveled hair. The kiss was long, passionate, and serious, with seven years of pent-up desire poured into it. However, it was tinged with a hint of desperation and worry that Hermione attempted to ignore. When Ron finally pulled away, breathless and extremely red in the face, Hermione felt cold and somehow empty, her lips still tingling.

"Sorry it took so long for me to do that," Ron muttered as he stared at the ground, at first sounding shy but then looking very serious when he glanced up and met Hermione's gaze. "But I do…and I just wanted to tell you…before…"

Hermione stared at him for a moment, exhilarated and bursting with all kinds of emotion. Her mind was reeling, and her heart was pounding. All thoughts of Diana had been temporarily wiped from her mind. Without warning, Hermione threw her arms around Ron's neck and held on to him tightly.

"_Why is it that we always have to be in some sort of peril before you can tell me how you feel?" Hermione mumbled furiously into his shoulder. "Oh, I love you too, idiot that you are - " she blurted out._

She was quickly silenced as Ron's mouth met hers again. Hermione couldn't help giving a sigh of contentment against Ron's lips before he abruptly pulled away, leaving that now slightly familiar empty feeling in his wake. The second kiss had been far too brief, and though right now Hermione wouldn't have cared if they stayed down in those horrible dungeons kissing forever, the logical part of her brain was screaming at her to get a move on before she lost her nerve.

"Be careful," Ron warned her huskily, reluctantly breaking away from Hermione but still clutching her hand. She nodded, trying to swallow the ever-present lump in her throat. Hermione took a few steps towards her chosen path as Ron finally let go of her hand unwillingly. She heard his footsteps on the right passageway become fainter and fainter, until they had totally faded away.

She was alone. In the dungeons.

Summoning the courage that had landed her in Gryffindor, Hermione purposefully strode on, breaking into a jog and not looking back.

The path she had chosen was a short one; the passageway kept becoming wider and, thankfully, a bit brighter as Hermione ran on. She gave a gasp of surprise as torches suddenly burst into flame on either side of her, illuminating the dank corridor and revealing cold, stone walls. She could only assume that there was some sort of spell on the torches that made them light up when someone was near. Water was slowly and methodically dripping from the stone ceiling, occasionally splashing onto Hermione's head and making her already disastrous hair situation even worse. Not that it mattered right now.

Hermione was jerked out of her thoughts to find that, unexpectedly, the corridor had widened into a brightly-lit, round chamber. Torches lined the circular walls, casting shadows everywhere. A glance around the chamber revealed several torture mechanisms, including a rough, wooden table with shackles on it for the arms and legs. Hermione gawked at it, horrified, as she noticed what looked like a crank. She remembered seeing something like this in a Muggle movie once - prisoners had been laid on the table, and then the crank was turned, stretching their limbs. Hermione shivered and hurriedly tried to find a way out of the chamber. She ran her fingers over the solid, stone walls, searching for some kind of secretive exit.

Hermione suddenly inhaled sharply as she felt an icy chill run up her spine. It was the familiar feeling that accompanied being watched by someone. She definitely felt eyes boring into her back, making her flesh crawl. There was no escape in this long-forgotten chamber, no one to hear her scream. Except for maybe Ron. The logical part of her mind seemed to have pushed aside the emotional, frightened part. She coolly decided that since there was no where to run or hide, she would have to whirl around as fast as she could, hope to curse her watcher, and then immediately send out red sparks. She breathed in deeply, squeezing her eyes shut.

Hermione's eyes flew open as she spun around and pointed her wand at her watcher. The words of the worst curse she could think of had barely formed on her lips as she registered that the person standing before her was none other than Ron. A wave of relief washed over Hermione, and she tried to restrain herself from throwing herself into his arms.

"Ron! You scared me half to death!" Hermione exclaimed, putting a hand to her pounding heart. "What happened? She wasn't down the other - ?"

She abruptly stopped talking as everything seemed to go into slow motion. Slowly, a smirk had begun to form on Ron's lips. He had drawn his wand, and had painstakingly pointed it at Hermione. She took a step backwards, confused. Bewildered, she searched Ron's face. His eyes were cold - they glittered madly, looking haunted…and…brown?

"_Expelliarmus__."_

"No!" Hermione cried, but she hadn't come to her senses fast enough. Her wand was wrenched out of her tight grip by an unseen force. It sailed in a neat arc through the air, landing in Ron's outstretched hand.

Hermione took a few more shaky step backwards, feeling the jagged wall meet her back within seconds. There was no place to run. Rather than succumb to fear, her mind kept itself pre-occupied with trying to process who - or what - was standing in front of her. Surely it wasn't Ron…unless the Imperius curse had been performed on him. But then what of the eyes? Was it an imposter, using Polyjuice Potion? It briefly seemed to explain the fact that there were two Diana's. But how had they made the switch from Diana to Ron so quickly?

Even Hermione's mile-a-minute brain went blank with shock as she watched what happened next, horrified, yet unable to look away.

Ron had begun to slowly walk forward, the smirk still on his face; yet as he did so, he seemed to be growing shorter and shorter. Then his skin began to crawl, rippling as if it was some sort of liquid. Aghast, Hermione watched as his flaming red hair darkened to the colour of ebony and lengthened, spilling over his shoulders, which had now become less muscular. His athletic frame had changed into a dainty one. His lips became fuller, his long nose shorter, and his skin an unmistakable porcelain colour. Now Diana Drago was slowly walking towards her. Yet Diana's icy blue eyes did not stare back at Hermione; rather, the crazed brown ones had remained.

Hermione opened her mouth - to say something, to scream, to gag, she didn't know - but her tongue felt thick and her throat was too dry to form any sound. Then, to her utter dismay, the gruesome spectacle began again with Diana. As the Potions Mistress moved towards Hermione, her flesh contorted into another form. Her hair shortened and lightened to the colour of straw. The slender body became masculine again, and instead of a frigidly beautiful face, a dashingly handsome one stared back at her now. Hermione felt physically sick, because in the new form her attacker had taken, the brown eyes actually belonged. Yet it couldn't be…it was impossible…

Hermione's mind seemed to have re-awakened with a vengeance. Memories of fables, of wizard legend, came pouring back to her, flooding her previously paralyzed brain. She remembered reading about an ancient talent so rare among wizards - rarer even than Parseltongue - that it had now been dismissed as mere folklore, the stuff of myth. There hadn't been a wizard with this gift for hundreds of years. Though it seemed quite impossible that this gift actually had survived through many, many generations, the evidence that it had was standing right in front of Hermione - evidence in the form of a sickeningly familiar face. The face leering unpleasantly at her, contorted into a sinister expression that looked foreign and uncharacteristic on it. Hermione felt nauseous as thoughts swirled around in her brain, furiously making connections in a dizzying sort of way, finally coming to a painfully blunt conclusion.

Charles Griney, Hermione realized as she stared at him in utter terror and revulsion, was a shape-shifter.

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DA NA NA!!!

…

All right, so that plot twist was a lot more effective before Order of the Phoenix. JKR _totally_ stole my plot twist. I mean, it's obvious she ripped the Metamorphmagus idea off of me. It's just a tad coincidental, don't you think? I write this fic involving a "shape-shifter", and the next thing you know, Order of the Phoenix comes out a few months later with a new character who is also a "shape-shifter", just with a fancy name! I'm very suspicious…I think JKR surfs ff.net in her spare time…very suspicious indeed…^_~

So, just to re-iterate, Charles is _not a Metamorphmagus. This is a pre-OotP fic. In this world, there is no such thing as a Metamorphmagus. Charles is a shape-shifter. My shape-shifter. Damn you JKR…_

I take it back! I take it back! I love you, JKR!!!

Review!


	17. Revelations

**Author's Notes:** And now, I present to you all: The Chapter That Explains It All. Don't you love that chapter? There's always one in HP, therefore there's one in my story. It's also The Chapter That Shatters Any Theories And/Or Preconceptions You May Have Already Had.

This was also the chapter that, when I first wrote it, the letter b on my keyboard wasn't working. So I went to some random website, copied the letter b from someplace, every time I needed that letter I'd paste it into the word I needed it in.

You don't forget an ordeal like that. Damn keyboard.

***

Sick with shock and terror, Hermione couldn't voice any objections as long, thin cords burst out of Charles Griney's wand and wrapped themselves snugly around her.

"_You…" Hermione whispered in utter astonishment. Slowly, an evil grin was spreading across Charles' handsome features. She could do nothing but gape at him as he checked the cords to make sure they were tight._

"Yes, me," Charles laughed. It was a harsh, cold laugh, nothing like the bumbling, good-natured one Hermione had come to know. "Surprised, _darling?"_

Hermione shivered as Charles ran one of his fingers up her bare arm; she had rolled the sleeves of her robe up during the mad dash before, and now goosebumps were appearing on the exposed skin. Charles laughed again, his breath tickling her ear and making her shudder. Her ex-boyfriend straightened and strolled over to the other side of the room, greedily sizing up Hermione with his eyes in a way that made her feel extremely uncomfortable. She squirmed viciously against her ropes.

But then something occurred to her, a faint hope - what if the shape-shifter had not yet shown their true form? It could not have been Charles; her naïve, good-natured ex-boyfriend wasn't capable of looking at her in that kind of way. Hermione suddenly felt extremely angry with the shape-shifter in front of her, feeling as if he had taken this form as some kind of cruel joke.

"Well, go on then," Hermione hissed, the red-hot fury coursing through her veins making her unnaturally bold. "Aren't you going to turn into Professor McGonagall now?" she asked in a cold, cynical tone. "Or maybe Dobby the house-elf, that would be rich…"

Charles raised a perfectly arched, blonde eyebrow, smiling slightly. "Getting cheeky, are you, _sugar plum?" he snickered. "My, my, aren't we the feisty one…ah, but I know what you're thinking." He bent down in front of Hermione again, tilting her chin up slightly so that his eyes were boring right into hers. "You're thinking that the real Charles Griney would never do this to you. Petrify students, poison Dumbledore…oh no, dear old Charles isn't capable, is he?" Hermione felt that faint glimmer of hope die as Charles laughed again - that cold, grating laugh that was worse than nails on a chalkboard._

"Well," he said, "I've news for you, Hermione, dearest. You only knew the _real Charles Griney for about a week. And as a boy at Hogwarts," he added, leering at her unpleasantly._

Hermione felt a strange, stinging sensation somewhere behind her eyes. She could only stare at the man before her, her lips slightly parted. "You're lying," she finally whispered.

"No," Charles answered pleasantly, "I disposed of the real Charles Griney last September. He was an extremely useful person, I must say. Though having to keep up that idiotic, sniveling personality of his became quite tiresome after awhile, I assure you." He rested his elbow on his knee, still bending down. "I couldn't understand," he whispered, reaching out his hand and brushing his thumb across Hermione's cheekbone, "what a brilliant, beautiful witch like yourself could possibly see in that idiot. I finally assumed that you were in it for his money, so I was forced to keep up the Charles façade for the sake of those around us who had known the fool. It hurt me, though, Hermione; it hurt every time you looked at me with that exasperated look, or that annoyed expression. I longed to drop the act, to kiss you as _I_ wanted to…but I had spent so much time planning…I couldn't jeopardize it, even for you."

Hermione could taste bile rising to her throat. She felt physically sick, and used all her willpower to keep from gagging as the horrible truth hit her. She had hardly known the real Charles; instead, she had been dating a sick madman that had likely killed the real Mr. Griney, and who was currently bent on murdering Albus Dumbledore. Hermione didn't even attempt to struggle as the Charles imposter continued to stroke her face with his cold fingers. She was too absorbed in the loathing consuming her. True, she didn't understand what the shape-shifter's motives were, or even who the shape-shifter really was - but something was becoming painfully obvious. For the better part of a year and a half, this man had _used her. All fear was erased from Hermione's mind as she concentrated instead on the anger, the absolute fury, washing over her. Perhaps her hot temper - something that she suspected she had only developed after years of bickering with Ron - would come in handy after all. It was certainly making her mind perfectly clear right now._

  
"Who are you?" Hermione demanded in a low hiss, seething with rage.

"Oh, I believe you've heard of me," 'Charles' answered lightly, slowly rising to his feet again. "But enough small talk, sweetheart. I believe we're about to get company."

Hermione's heart leapt as she heard the same sound the imposter had already picked up. "Ron!" she tried to scream, but nothing came out. She realized with a start that 'Charles' had his wand pointed at her, and that her lips seemed to have been cemented together.

"Shh," the shape-shifter said softly, putting a finger to his lips and flashing a sickening smile. He turned to face the entrance, his wand still pointed at Hermione, and _Hermione's_ wand pointed in the direction of Ron's increasingly loud footsteps. Hermione's eyes grew wide, and she struggled violently against the cords binding her.

Then, suddenly, the footsteps stopped. The imposter furrowed his eyebrows, both wands still pointed and ready. He stiffened as, after a small pop, 'Charles' felt a wand being jabbed rather roughly into the back of his neck.

"I don't know _what the hell is going on here," Ron said quietly, though his voice was shaking with fury, "but if you move, Griney, I will kill you."_

'Charles' did not seem fazed. "I was under the impression that you could not Apparate within Hogwarts," he said, almost amicably.

"Auror's privileges," Ron growled, thrusting his wand more violently into the shape-shifter's neck. "Drop the wands, or I'll kill you."

"Drop _your wand, or I'll kill her," 'Charles' replied coolly. He gestured to the wand pointed at Hermione with a slight nod of his head. Ron's eyes flashed with sudden alarm as the bound Hermione managed to let out a slight whimper through her cemented jaws._

"You wouldn't dare," Ron hissed.

"It would be an absolute pity, yes," Charles agreed. "But I _would dare, I assure you."_

From the look on Ron's face, it was obviously he was trying to determine the danger of hexing 'Charles' right then and there, and if that would give the shape-shifter enough time to cast a spell of his own on Hermione. Hermione tried to encourage Ron with a nod of her head, her eyes pleading for him to do away with the imposter, whatever the cost. But as the Auror glanced from Hermione to the shape-shifter in front of him, his decision seemed to already have been made. Reluctantly, he bent to the ground and laid his wand there.

"Now take a step backwards," the shape-shifter drawled. He appeared to be enjoying this. Ron seemed to be fighting the urge to strangle him with his bare hands, but Hermione's well-being seemed to win out. Ron begrudgingly took a step away from his wand.

"Wonderful," 'Charles' smirked, spinning around and scooping up Ron's wand. Now clutching two wands in his left hand, and his own wand in his right, the shape-shifter caused Ron to fall to the ground and skid backwards towards the wall Hermione was propped up against with a flick of his own wand. Ron's head violently snapped backwards and hit the wall with a sickening crack.

Hermione's lips unglued and she gasped for breath, then cried out as she saw Ron attempt to stagger up, finding his vision blurred by the blood slowly trickling down his face, dripping into his eyes. The glinting, crimson liquid stood out fiercely against his pale face, creating small rivulets down his cheek. Hermione struggled even more aggressively against the ropes, her only thought to get to Ron. He looked dazed, but seemed to have come to his senses. He only had enough time to wipe the blood from his eyes before cords spurted from the shape-shifter's wand and bound him tightly as well.

"You nearly ruined everything, you know," the fraud hissed at Ron, momentarily losing his unnerving, calm attitude. His hand shook as he pointed his wand at the red-haired wizard. "Meddling in things you shouldn't have, flirting with Hermione…I needed her, you see…you nearly ruined that. You nearly ruined _me."_

'Charles' turned to Hermione, shaking his head, his easygoing manner having re-appeared as quickly as it had vanished. "Pity you like this fellow, darling," he remarked, almost apologetically. Then he pointed his wand at Ron and abruptly jerked it to the side.

With a cry, Ron was thrown into the air by an invisible force. Hermione screamed as he was flung into one of the hard, stone walls of the chamber with a sickening thud. 'Charles' continued to toss Ron around like a rag doll, occasionally causing him to crash into one of the torture devices littering the chamber.

"Stop it!" Hermione screamed, watching in horror as Ron was tossed back to the ground, his right leg crumpling beneath him with a nauseating crack. His face was contorted in an expression of fury and pain.

"Yes, I think he's had quite enough, hasn't he?" the shape-shifter agreed as Ron's eyes rolled into the back of his head. The famous Auror slumped to the cold ground with a thud, unconscious. Hermione tried to scream again, but she seemed to have lost her voice; she could only stare at Ron's inanimate form in mute horror.

"Oh, we can't have that," the imposter said disapprovingly. "He has to be awake for all the fun," he twirled his wand around idly in his fingers, and then pointed it at Ron again. "_Enervate_."

Ron's eyes fluttered open, a low groan of pain escaping him.

"You're sick," Hermione whispered to the imposter, feeling her blood boil. "Whoever you are, you are _sick_…"

"Oh come now, dearest, surely you don't mean that," 'Charles' replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. "You barely know me. Or, well, the real me. Passing judgment so soon, _really_…Dumbledore would be ashamed - "

"Don't you _dare speak his name," Ron choked out, blinded by pain and blood. Fury seemed to be the only thing keeping him conscious. "You pretended to be concerned about him…and this whole time…for God's sake, you work at the Ministry of Magic, you perverted - "_

"He's a shape-shifter, Ron," Hermione said softly, her throat parched. Ron's eyes nearly bugged out of his head, making him look more dazed and pain-stricken than he already was.

"That's impossible…" he whispered.

"Oh no, Mr. Weasley, it is _very_ possible. I am extremely fortunate to have ancestors on both sides of the family with the gift…and I suppose it was just the luck of the gene pool that the talent should skip so many generations and be bestowed upon me." The imposter gave another unsettling laugh. "Yes, I was meant to do great things…the Dark Lord said that himself once…"

"Who are you?" Ron demanded in a tone brimming with rage and loathing.

'Charles' glanced at his watch carelessly. "Well, we have time, I suppose…it really would be a shame for you to die without knowing what a brilliant plot you played a part in. It's fascinating, really, one of my most clever and elaborate ideas, if I do say so myself. But yes, we must wait for our third guest, so I suppose I could show you."

He began his now sickeningly familiar routine. Ron's eyes widened in revulsion and surprise as 'Charles' began his gruesome transformation anew. Hermione tried to will herself to look away, but found herself somehow drawn to the spectacle. She gasped softly in recognition, pieces of the puzzle seeming to fit together as rapidly as Charles Griney's features were changing and shifting. Ron inhaled sharply as the shape-shifter finished his revolting transformation.

The wizard standing before them looked very different from the last time they had seen him - his face was fuller, his hair was now trimmed and neat instead of wild and unruly, and his robes were not filthy and shabby, but were still the expensive ones that Charles Griney had been wearing only a few seconds ago. Only the haunted, wild, insane brown eyes remained the same, now causing memories of a courtroom and a penetrating stare to flood back to Hermione.

Donovan Owens stood before them.

He looked triumphant at the astonished looks on their faces. "That's much better," Donovan remarked, stretching. "All those different bodies were beginning to tire me…"

"You," Ron snarled, his eyes glinting with malice. "So that's what it is. Revenge. You're getting revenge on Dumbledore for almost sending you to Azkaban all those years ago - "

"Oh no, on the contrary, Mr. Weasley," Donovan answered. "Yes, revenge was my motive…but Dumbledore was not the original target, oh no…" He seemed absolutely brimming with eagerness, obviously bursting to share his ingenious plan with someone. "The target has always been…" he smirked and gestured to Ron and Hermione, "…you. And Mr. Potter, of course."

He paused, as if allowing time for his two victims to say something. When neither of them spoke, choosing to sit in stunned silence instead, Donovan shrugged and continued talking.

"I was here, you know," he said. A dark look was beginning to descend upon his eyes. "The night that you three supposedly defeated my master. He summoned us to him - we could feel the pain as much as he did." Anger was now creeping into Owens's voice, which had slowly become a low hiss. "And just before you banished him to a cursed existence, a half-life as he had before, he spoke to me. He told me that he could not return until his alleged killers were disposed of. He spoke to _me…he gave me the greatest honour of all - helping to restore him to his former glory…" His eyes burned with pride, and a trembling Hermione realized something._

Donovan Owens was very, very insane.

"Voldemort is dead," Ron said flatly, not even flinching as he spoke the dreaded name. Obviously seven years in Harry's company had made him bold when it came to saying the name of the Dark Lord.

"He is _not dead!" Donovan said shrilly, a wild look about him. "He spoke to me, he's alive…barely, but he's alive!" His words echoed in the circular chamber, bouncing off the walls, reverberating endlessly around the room._

"But," the shape-shifter said, now pacing the chamber, "how was I to avenge my master? That foolish court had sentenced my wife and I to Azkaban. And so, I had to make a choice…"

An unrecognizable emotion flitted over Donovan's face, but then was gone. "My Samantha was too weak to escape; after the Cruciatus curse, she was never the same…it was all that foolish girl's fault…" He dissolved into mumbling to himself, and then abruptly snapped out of it. "But my master had given me his orders," he continued. "He had chosen _me to return him to power. On our way to Azkaban - they didn't dare use a Portkey, it was far too easy for us prisoners to escape in that whirlwind - I transformed into that Crump fool, just to shock the wizards guarding us. It worked; they were dumbfounded for a moment, and it was enough. Alonso and I managed to escape…but Sam…Sam was too weak…" A pained expression was now on his face. Donovan shook his head to clear it, and his calm, relaxed attitude returned once more._

"My master gave me explicit instructions," he continued, now idly toying with the crank on the torture mechanism Hermione had been staring at before. "It had to be all three of you…and here, at Hogwarts, in the very dungeons in which he'd nearly met his end - "

"You're…you're going to kill us?" Hermione burst out. A slow smile played across Owens's face.

"Oh, no need to worry, my dear," Donovan said coyly, crossing over to Hermione and kneeling down in front of her. She turned her head in disgust as he caressed her face with his fingers again. "I've become rather fond of you," he whispered in her ear. "Perhaps there's something my master and I can work out…"

"Get your hands off of her," Ron snapped furiously, uselessly fighting against the ropes wrapped around him. "Get your slimy, perverted hands off of - "

"You're becoming _very boring __very fast, Mr. Weasley," Donovan said irritably, rising to his feet and pointing his wand at Ron. Now Ron's jaws seemed to be cemented together, because all he could manage were muffled sounds through his lips. "Now, listen closely…" He smiled an oily smile and returned to toying with the crank, leaning against the wooden table._

"Alonso and I were weak; they had stunned us before we made our escape, and we were half-starved as it was. We had escaped somewhere in Switzerland, and if we had tried to Apparate, the Ministry would have picked it up and would have found us in seconds. We had no food, no wands. We lived off the forest we had fled into, barely able to survive. Alonso soon became quite a bother - he ate too much food, and seemed to be getting weaker instead of stronger." Owens's eyes glinted, and he looked smug. "So, I disposed of him."

Hermione barely contained a gasp; Ron narrowed his eyes, his breathing having become short and uneven, probably from the pain. Hermione watched Ron in concern. His right leg was bent at an unnatural angle, and his face was contorted into an expression of agony. 

"And then," Donovan continued, having allowed a moment of silence for dramatic emphasis, "a miracle happened. Two foolish teenage wizards snuck into my forest one night, for thrills, I suppose. I surprised them. I stole their wands, and summoned the Knight Bus, transforming into some average Joe so as not to be recognized. I had lived in that vile forest for nearly five years.

"So, how was I to gather all three of you together at Hogwarts? I knew that the lovely Miss Granger here was already a teacher at the school, but you and Mr. Potter were abroad, Weasley, and not likely to return to Hogwarts. I considered fatally harming Hermione, for that surely would have brought both of you running…but I didn't want to harm her, because I would need her. Then I thought about writing to you, pretending to be Dumbledore…but I can mimic appearances, not handwriting. I spent the better part of a year trying to figure out how to go through with my master's plan. I feared it was impossible, that I had failed him." He took a breath, and suddenly a gleeful, deranged smile lit up the shape-shifter's face.

"And then…a blessing in disguise…Charles Griney came along," he said, laughing softly. "I had been staying in Hogsmeade, as close to Hogwarts as was possible. He was staying at the same inn as I, with the Minister for Magic. We struck up a conversation one night. I talked to him for nearly the entire night: about his work, about the Ministry, and about this _wonderful girl he had met, a teacher up at the school. He was supposed to meet her for dinner the next night. When I learned he was going out with none other than Hermione Granger, I was ecstatic. When I learned he had no family, no living relatives, I thought it too good to be true. I spent the next few nights getting to know him, learning all I could about him. It didn't have to be exactly precise; it seemed he had few friends, and with no family, the only people I would have to fool would be those who knew him at the Ministry. And then, the night before he left to go back to London," Owens whispered, swelling with pride, "I killed him. I returned to London with Isaac Crump, in the body of Charles Griney."_

Hermione realized that she was trembling violently. She felt numb. Donovan looked at her pityingly, though a smile played across his face.

"Don't worry, Hermione," he said soothingly. "I'm getting to the best part," he chuckled, clearing his throat. "I now had Hermione by my side constantly, but what to do about the other two? And then, you see, I had my stroke of brilliance - why not kill three birds with one stone? Dumbledore and Alonso's foolish daughter were both at the school - the two people responsible for sending my Sam to Azkaban, and for my living in exile in that damned forest, for so long. Now, I knew that Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley would only come to the school if Dumbledore asked them to. So, I wrote that idiotic note, and sure enough, Dumbledore went crying to the two Aurors."

His audience was silent, perhaps contemplating what Donovan had just said, or too paralyzed with fear and loathing to speak.

"Then imagine my disappointment," Donovan went on, "when only Weasley showed up. And then, imagine my utter despair when he started making trouble, sticking his long nose where it didn't belong." He glared at Ron with malice. "I needed Potter to complete the trio, to obey my master's orders. At first I lost hope - but you see, I had been giving Euphoria to those idiot house-elves to sneak into Dumbledore's food. I was linked to him through the poison, I could feel him weakening. I knew that Potter would come to see Dumbledore when he was in the final stages of the poison. So I resigned myself to waiting…and then imagine my excitement when Potter _did show up, just as expected - "_

"What about those kids?" Ron interrupted harshly. "How did they fit into your sick little plot?"

"Oh, them," Owens said in an off-hand way. "Well, they weren't originally part of the plan, but they proved to be an unexpected asset. As I said before, I was going to kill three birds with one stone. I knew someone was sure to figure out what was really happening to Dumbledore eventually, and when they did, there would be hell to pay. Therefore I couldn't very well waltz into the kitchen as Charles Griney, or as myself, to give them the poison. So I had to choose someone to frame," he sneered, "and who better than that little brat Diana? I always took her form when delivering the Euphoria. I figured someone would be smart enough to question the house-elves eventually - preferably after your deaths and Dumbledore's, to allow me time to get out of England - and that the stupid little creatures would be happy to tell them that it had been Professor Drago poisoning the headmaster all along. As soon as everyone found out who her father was, the courts wouldn't hesitate to put her in Azkaban. It all worked out so perfectly, you see…Dumbledore dead, Diana behind bars, the three that destroyed my master done away with, and the Dark Lord free to return…"

He looked gleeful for a moment, his eyes shining madly. Donovan then shook his head to clear it, the insane smile still present on his face. He turned to Ron. "You asked about those two foolish boys…well, they had a nasty habit of sneaking down to the kitchens. I should have really been more careful, but…I suppose what happened was that they saw Professor Drago in the corridor outside the kitchens - and then they saw me, as Diana, leaving the kitchens seconds later. They began to suspect something. Rather than kill them, I Petrified them, while in Diana's body of course. Once awoken, they would just confirm the story that Diana was behind everything. But then, of course, I had to destroy the Mandrakes…they couldn't awaken until I was safely away from Hogwarts, just in case."

"And Dobby?" Hermione ventured to whisper hoarsely.

"The kitchen's head elf? Oh, I think the idiotic thing started to suspect foul play -  that the poison wasn't really 'medicine', because the next thing you know, he's telling Potter that he has to tell him something important. I couldn't have that, though, so I Petrified him as well while in Diana's body. He'll make a nice little addition to the witness stand at Diana's trial," Donovan smirked.

Hermione could only stare at him in disbelief - it was so complex, so carefully planned, so brilliant. Donovan seemed to sense her astonishment and looked extremely pleased with himself.

"And now, as soon as Mr. Potter shows up - as soon as he realizes that he's got the wrong Diana, he'll rush down here to save his little friends - the real fun will begin. You'll all suffer; just as the Dark Lord suffered, just as _I suffered. And then I'll kill you, and the Dark Lord will be free to return. And I will be rewarded beyond my wildest dreams…" Donovan's eyes were glazed as he stared into space, that crazed smile still painted on his face._

"You're mad," Ron said bluntly, despite the pain he was evidently feeling. "I saw him die. _We saw him die. He's gone this time, and you know it."_

"Ah yes, ignorance is bliss, isn't it Mr. Weasley?" Owens retorted, though his voice sounded ever so slightly uncertain. He suddenly went rigid and alert, his eyes lighting up. He pointed his wand at the entrance, pocketing Hermione's and Ron's wands. Pounding footsteps were starting to become clearer and clearer. Hermione moaned and looked away, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. Harry was going to come, and then they were all going to die. She looked to Ron, but there was no comfort in his pained expression. He looked almost as hopeless as she felt. A pang suddenly shot through her…after nearly fourteen years, they had finally admitted how they felt about each other…and it had been too late…

"Ron! Hermione!"

Hermione couldn't help but turn her head as Harry hollered their names and appeared at the entrance to the chamber, looking panicked. Someone was standing in the shadows behind him. A look of astonishment and disbelief flitted over Harry's face as he spotted Donovan Owens.

"Why hello, Mr. Potter," Donovan said silkily, his wand extended. "Nice of you to finally join us." He frowned as Harry drew his wand and pointed it in Donovan's direction. But the shape-shifter wasn't staring at the wand - he was staring at the figure behind Harry.

"_You…" a female voice hissed in anger. Hermione's eyes widened as none other than the real Diana Drago stepped out from behind Harry. "You – " she called Donovan something quite rude, but not necessarily undeserved. "You were behind this!" she shouted in fury._

Donovan's eyes flickered, his mouth twitching. "It's a pity you have to stay alive to take the blame," he said brusquely to Diana. "I would have taken great pleasure in killing you, just as I killed your father…"

Diana's chest heaved as she took deep, deliberate breaths. She seemed to be fighting some sort of inner turmoil, trying to restrain herself from strangling Owens with her bare hands.

"It's because of you that I couldn't stop the Cruciatus curse," Donovan's voice began getting louder and shriller. "If you hadn't Stunned me and ran off…Sam wouldn't have had to endure the pain until your idiot of a father showed up an hour later and stopped the curse. She was never the same after that. She was so weak…" Donovan was clenching his fists, his eyes livid with hatred. "It's because of you that she couldn't escape when your father and I did. It's because of you that she ended up in Azkaban! It's because of _you_ that she died there last year!" he bellowed, his hand shaking wildly as he shifted to point his wand at Diana instead. Harry saw his chance.

Hermione screamed and squeezed her eyes shut as three different voices hollered three different curses. A scream, a yell, a horrible thump, and then silence. Hermione risked opening one eye to see what happened, feeling as if she was going to be sick.

Her breath caught in her throat as she saw Diana sprawled on the stone floor, unconscious or worse, and an unarmed Donovan standing extremely still as Harry scrambled up, Donovan's wand clutched in his hand. Harry snapped the slender wand in two, crouched over and panting hard. It seemed he had been hit in the stomach with one of the curses. Nevertheless, he managed to point his own wand at Owens.

Donovan seemed to have recovered. "That's all right," he sneered, and in one quick motion, before Harry could react, he drew Hermione's wand from his pocket. "I have another," he laughed coldly, slowly turning and pointing the weapon at Ron.

"Now," Donovan drawled, "unless you want me to blow Mr. Weasley here to smithereens, I suggest you drop your wand."

Harry's uneven breaths were the only sound in the room as, resentfully, he slowly crouched to lay his wand on the ground. Just as it seemed he was about to drop it, he instead leapt up, screaming, "_Expelliarmus__!" at the top of his lungs. Hermione's wand flew out of Owens's hand and landed in the dark somewhere with a clatter. Unruffled, Donovan swiftly drew Ron's wand from his pocket, laughing maniacally._

"Who knows how many more I have hidden up my sleeve?" he taunted an astonished Harry. "Drop the wand, Mr. Potter. No tricks this time."

"Don't Harry, he's going to kill us anyway," Ron called feebly, now clutching his broken leg. Donovan's eyes flashed as he glared at Ron out of the corner of his eye.

"Meddling fool," Owens hissed, but Harry still seemed dubious despite Ron's warning. Hermione knew her friend too well; Harry would not try to harm Donovan, would not risk Hermione or Ron getting hurt. The Boy Who Lived dropped his wand.

"Excellent," Donovan said smoothly. Suddenly, a strange expression crossed his face, and he slowly cocked his head to the left a bit. "Yes, master…they are all here," he said in a dreamy voice. Harry stared, looking both confused and apprehensive at the same time. "Yes…yes, I am sorry for wasting time…I had to wait for Potter, you see. Yes, master…but I have a request…may I keep the girl?" Owens flinched abruptly, and started speaking very fast. "No, master, but she will be harmless, I assure you! Please master, I have served you well, master…I'll perform a memory charm on her, she will not remember…" A look of sheer delight dawned on his face. "Thank you, master! You are most kind, master, most gracious - yes, yes…I will get on with it, thank you master…"

  
The affected smile on his face did not waver as he hurried over to Hermione. "You're very lucky, darling," he said excitedly. "My master has agreed to let me keep you alive…with a few modifications to your memory, of course." He stroked her hair lovingly, his eyes greedily taking her in. "Oh, how you remind me of my Sam…" he whispered. Hermione shuddered under his touch.

"Leave her alone!" Donovan whirled around as Harry spoke out furiously. "I don't know what you're trying to do, or why you think Voldemort's still living, but you're sick."

"Silence, Potter!" Owens thundered, pointing his wand at Harry. A twisted smile slowly spread across his face. "You've been the Boy Who Lived _Far Too Many Times," he whispered._

Hermione choked; he was going to do it. He was going to kill Harry, and then Ron. She didn't even want to think about whatever perverted fate he had in mind for her. She tried to look away, but she was paralyzed, forced to watch as her best friends were murdered. Absolute and devastating hopelessness washed over her as Donovan Owens began uttering the words to the spell that had killed Harry's parents and Severus Snape. The spell that would kill Harry.

Hermione started, and time seemed to freeze in its tracks momentarily. _Snape.___

Owens had forgotten something.

"_Avada__ Kedavra!" the shape-shifter cried triumphantly as time returned to normal for Hermione. Harry didn't move; rather, he stood straight-backed and tall, perhaps unafraid to die, or perhaps because he had remembered too. A blinding, green light filled the dim chamber, forcing Hermione to shut her eyes against its brilliance. A whooshing sound filled the chamber, the unmistakable sound of approaching death. And after that, silence. An extremely loud silence. Shaking, Hermione dared to open her eyes._

Donovan Owens lay on the ground, cold, unmoving, and unmarked. He was dead, a victim of his own rebounded curse, just as his master had once been. He had made the same mistake that the Dark Lord had made twice – Owens had forgotten the protection that lingered on Harry, first from his mother's sacrifice, and then from Snape's.

Harry himself stood with his arms raised, as if he had been shielding himself from the brilliant light. The sleeves of his robe on his right arm had been singed. Harry slowly lowered his arms, breathing hard.

"God, Snape," Ron said weakly, "that's two we owe you." And with that, Ron collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

Miles away in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies, Albus Dumbledore's eyes flew open.

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Ah, the climax of the story. If you refused to review all throughout this story, but then thought, "Meh, maybe I'll review just one chapter to appease SP and the review song gods," review this one. Please and thank you. ^_^


	18. Long Enough

**Author's Notes:** Yet another messed-up POV chapter. But I fixed it. ^_^ I also fixed some stuff that was bugging me…out of character-ness and whatnot…and I inserted more mush…gotta love mush.

***

After the incident in the dungeons, Hermione Granger was not the same for a long time.

For weeks afterwards, she was very quiet and subdued, eating little and sleeping even less. Her robes began to hang off her, shadows began to appear beneath her eyes; even her hair, which usually was untamed and bushy when she didn't care for it, looked limp and lifeless. She was most content quietly spending time with Ron and Harry, or teaching. Professor McGonagall had offered her and Ron - who, to his chagrin, was forced to spend an entire night in the hospital wing with Madam Pomfrey in order to mend his broken leg - a few weeks off on "personal stress leave", but both had declined. Hermione felt that continuing her lessons brought a sense of normality to her day despite the less-than-normal ordeal she had just endured. Ron, however, had insisted on continuing his lessons as an excuse to stay out of the hospital wing and away from Madam Pomfrey.

Professor McGonagall had called an assembly the day after the nightmare in the dungeons, and had explained what happened to the students, insisting Dumbledore would want them to know. They were not told _all_ the details, but they knew enough. Hermione's Arithmancy students were exceptionally kind to her, careful not mention the incident or question their teacher about it. Whether Professor McGonagall had ordered them to stay quiet, or if they decided to do so on their own, Hermione did not know.

Diana Drago, after spending nearly a week in the hospital wing nursing a few bad hex side-effects, emerged unscathed and unharmed, though the slightest bit shaken, even if she wouldn't admit it. It took the usually cold, self-confident Potions Mistress about a fortnight to return to normal. However, for a long time she seemed prone to hex students who surprised her or approached her from behind.

Albus Dumbledore, St. Mungo's Hospital was happy to report, made a miraculous recovery, awakening from his comatose state rather suddenly on the first of March. He had since been recovering splendidly, though he had been insisting rather stubbornly for some time that he was fit to return to Hogwarts. There was apparently an incident involving a lost wand and a persistent Dumbledore threatening to curse his doctor and a few nurses if they didn't allow him to return to Hogwarts immediately. The St. Mungo's staff was extremely pleased to have the headmaster awake and very much alert.

When it came to Hermione's two best friends, it seemed an unspoken rule not to discuss what had occurred in the dungeons in Hermione's presence. Ron and Harry instead chose to speak about lighter topics, even making attempts at jokes once and awhile. Hermione suspected they were doing this for her sake, since both of them had undoubtedly been in life-threatening situations before and weren't as shaken as she was after what had happened. Also, they weren't the ones who had been dating a psychotic imposter for a year and a half.

Any other time, Hermione would have objected to their ignorance of the matter for her sake, and for their ridiculously gentleman-like treatment of her; but this time, she was exceptionally grateful for it. She wasn't ready to talk about what had happened in the dungeons - it wasn't due to denial, as it had been during the period after Voldemort's death, but rather, Hermione felt that she had to slowly come to terms with what had happened. She often felt frustrated and furious with herself for not spotting Charles's true nature earlier. She felt that the entire ordeal Dumbledore - not to mention Roger Ramone, Paul White, and Dobby - had been through was _her_ fault. However, the logical witch soon began to ignore this feeling of self-loathing, assuring herself rather matter-of-factly that if the Minister for Magic (who the real Charles had been employed under for many years) had been fooled, then she had not been the only one fooled.

Next, however, came an even worse feeling - that of doubt. Just when she had finally accepted the fact that Voldemort was dead and gone, a maniac had to come along and _talk to him, as if he were still alive, waiting. No matter how many times Hermione told herself that Donovan Owens had been insane, she couldn't help harboring that tiny feeling of uncertainty._

***

It was sometime mid-April when Ron decided to stop being a gentleman.

The subject of Donovan Owens and the incident in the dungeons had been avoided for over a month. But once Hermione had gotten over her fit of self-hatred, she then began to feel something that could only be described as…repulsiveness. She'd let the psycho responsible for nearly killing Dumbledore _kiss_ her. Hermione felt disgusted with herself. She was quiet and withdrawn most of the time, and she ate quite a lot of chocolate in frequent fits of self-pity. She supposed that Ron began to suspect things had only taken a turn for the worse when he discovered her consuming a rather large box of chocolate frogs in her classroom one bright, April morning.

"Hermione?"

Hermione jumped and promptly dropped a chocolate frog as Ron ducked into her classroom, one hand still tentatively on the doorknob.

"What are you…?" Ron began, and then trailed off. His eyes slowly moved from the chocolate smudged on her face, to the half-empty box of chocolate frogs, to the runaway frog, which had seen its opportunity and hurled itself out the window in a desperate attempt to escape the horrible fate its brethren had met.

"Nothing," Hermione replied hastily, grabbing the box of chocolate. "I…confiscated these from a student earlier this morning."

"You have chocolate on your face," Ron pointed out wryly, folding his arms.

"I most certainly do not!" Hermione retorted indignantly.

Ron opened his mouth as if to say something, and then closed it, shaking his head. He turned to grab a chair from behind one of the empty desks in the classroom, and Hermione's eyes darted to her reflection in the window. She hastily rubbed at a chocolate smudge at the corner of her lips, and then tried to stealthily stash the rest of the chocolate frogs in her desk just as Ron turned around, dragging a chair behind him.

"Hermione Josephine Granger!" he snapped, foiling her attempt to stash the chocolates away.

  
Hermione arched an eyebrow. "My middle name's Elizabeth…"

"Drop the chocolate," Ron said slowly.

Hermione glanced from the sweets to the stern-looking Auror, and then with a long sigh, she pushed the box of chocolate across her desk and towards Ron. He ceremoniously picked it up, walked across the room, and tossed the entire box of sweets out the window. Hermione gave a sigh as she watched several perfectly good chocolate specimens plummet to their doom below. She rested her chin on her hands as Ron pulled up a chair beside Hermione. Both of them sat there side-by-side for awhile, silently staring at their hands.

"May I be…er…blunt?" Ron inquired quietly after a few moments of silence.

Hermione sighed. "Go ahead."

Ron took a deep breath, looking awkward. He fidgeted in his chair. "I…don't mean to sound like an insensitive prat or anything. I realize you've been through…a lot. But honestly, Hermione…we can't keep pretending it didn't happen." He heaved a sigh and dared to glance up at her. Hermione's eyes were still fixated on her hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap.

"You can't blame yourself, you know," Ron said in the gentlest tone she had ever heard him use. "You didn't know who he really was - you _couldn't have. Dumbledore's okay, Harry's okay, I'm okay…no one's in danger anymore. That's what's important." Ron sighed again and ventured to place a hand on Hermione's arm. "It's just…I'm worried about you, Hermione," he finished._

"It's not that," came Hermione's muttered reply.

"What?"

"I mean I don't blame myself for what happened," Hermione elaborated. "Any more," she added.

Ron looked worried. "What's wrong, then?"

Hermione raised her head and looked Ron in the eye, feeling disgusted with herself. "I let him _kiss me, Ron."_

Ron blinked, at first looking puzzled. "Oh!" he finally blurted out awkwardly, a look of dawning comprehension on his face. "I'm…I'm …"

"He just…kept touching my face that night," Hermione put a hand to her cheek and shivered. "And I don't even want to think about what he was going to do with me afterwards…"

At this, a look of anger and loathing flitted across Ron's face, but he quickly masked it.

"I know Owens was mad," Hermione said very quickly before Ron could speak. Her eyes dropped to her lap again. "But what if he was right? What if he's still out there…biding his time…" she trailed off and shivered. After working so hard all year to overcome her fear of You-Know-Who's return, and what happened seven years ago in the dungeons, Donovan Owens had managed to resurrect her fear.

"What if…Vol…Vold…" Hermione closed her eyes, the syllables refusing to form on her lips.

_Just say it, urged a little voice encouragingly. But her tongue suddenly felt thick and numb, and her attempts to speak the dreaded name freely, as Ron and Harry could, failed._

She then felt Ron's fingers under her chin; he tilted her face upwards so that her eyes would meet his. Ron's eyes were serious. "Hermione," he said firmly, "Voldemort is dead. He is _not_ coming back."

Hermione's breath hitched, and she leaned across the arm of her chair to wrap her arms around Ron's neck. He silently hugged her back, holding her against him tightly. Hermione found a place where her head fit perfectly, right between Ron's neck and his shoulder, and she laid it there, feeling quiet and peaceful while he held her.

Reluctantly, after a few moments, they broke away. "Thanks," Hermione murmured, staring at the ground. In response, Ron reached out and awkwardly brushed a tear off her face. They sat in silence once more. There seemed to be so much to say, yet no words to say it with.

"Ron – " Hermione began, still not quite sure what she planned to say to him. But she was cut off as he abruptly leaned forward and caught her lips with his own. The kiss was soft, gentle, and brief, but it said more than either of them could ever have hoped to communicate with words. Ron broke away, blood rushing to his cheeks.

"Sorry," he muttered. "I…that probably wasn't the right time, I have no idea how to…how to go about doing this…"

A smile slowly formed on Hermione's lips. He could be cocky and self-assured; he even tried to pass himself off as charming. He was older, more mature, and had somehow learned to dance spectacularly. But he was still Ron, and that thought made her suddenly feel very warm inside.

"Look, if you…" Ron paused again, tongue-tied. It seemed to be costing him a lot of energy to say this. "I don't know if…what you said in the dungeons - if you really meant it, but…what I mean to say is if you…you're not…ready…to, er…well, I…I understand…"

Seeing the pathetic expression on Ron's face, and the hopeful look in his eyes that clearly told her he _wouldn't _really_ understand, Hermione felt a pull at her heartstrings. And then, without warning, she grabbed Ron by the front of his robes, pulled him towards her again, and did what she should have done weeks ago…months ago…years ago…a decade ago…_

Hermione kissed Ron Weasley with all her might. 

After recovering from the initial shock of it, Ron more than obligingly kissed back. The kiss was not as desperate as the one in the dungeons, but passionate and tender, sending shivers of delight up Hermione's spine.

Ron finally pulled away, breathing hard and fast. "Well, then," he said breathlessly, for lack of anything else to say.

Hermione smiled, heady with the emotions and adrenaline rushing through her. She leaned in to kiss him again, feeling warmth spread throughout her body as Ron's lips met hers. She already felt much better…a blissful sensation had slowly crept over her, erasing all thoughts of Donovan Owens or Charles Griney…

Something suddenly occurred to Hermione. Ron was still annoying, infuriating, stubborn, and occasionally stupid in a way that had nothing to do with intelligence, but Hermione loved him. She had unknowingly been in love with him since she was fourteen years old. She suspected that Ron had felt the same way, too.

And both of them had been too stubborn to do anything about it for _ten years_.

Without warning, Hermione laughed against Ron's lips.

"What?" demanded Ron, breaking away from her. He looked extremely offended as Hermione started laughing hysterically. "_What?_"

"We are both such stubborn _idiots!_" Hermione exclaimed between fits of laughter. A very puzzled Ron arched an eyebrow as, laughing, Hermione kissed him on the cheek and then pressed her lips to his again.

Suddenly, the two teachers were unexpectedly interrupted as the door to Hermione's classroom swung open. A familiar face, topped with a head of untidy black hair, appeared in the doorway. Embarrassed and surprised, Hermione and Ron both pulled away so hastily and forcefully that they had to grip Hermione's desk to keep from falling out of their respective chairs.

"Ah," said Harry delicately, surveying the scene before him. He awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Er…" Hermione began, very red in the face.

Harry suddenly shrugged. "Took you two long enough."

Hermione immediately flushed an even deeper red as Harry closed the door again, wearing an infectious grin. Ron's face split into a broad smile that could easily match Harry's. Hermione couldn't help it; she grinned too.

***

"So…allow me to get this straight. You saw me running down the steps to the dungeons, and then you saw another me turning the corner. And no one stopped to think, 'Hmm, that's odd'?"

Diana Drago raised an eyebrow, wearing an amused smirk. Ron's ears burned red with anger, or embarrassment, Hermione couldn't tell which. 

Hermione had persuaded Ron and Harry to invite Diana to the Three Broomsticks for a drink as a sign of goodwill, as well as to explain to her everything that had happened. Harry had agreed that the Potions Mistress had a right to know everything, seeing as she had unwillingly played a major role in Owens's sick scheme for revenge. But Ron had been against it at first, acting as if he still held a grudge against Diana. In all likelihood, however, he was just embarrassed that he had been wrong about her. Finally, he'd reluctantly agreed to tag along.

After explaining their early suspicions that the lunatic was Diana herself over a few Butterbeers, the trio had brought themselves to the point in the story where the three of them had split up; Ron and Hermione had followed the shape shifter, while Harry had chased after the real Diana Drago, who hadn't been running from them at all; she had been hurrying a few stragglers to their common rooms, oblivious to the chase that was going on with her physical double.

Harry shrugged. "It didn't seem a priority at the time to figure out that minor detail," he said to Diana with a grin.

"You desperately need to re-think your priorities then, Potter."

"See, the thing about a fast-paced chase is that you don't quite have _time to re-think your priorities."_

"Touché," Diana said, grinning.

Ron cleared his throat. "If you two are _quite_ done," he said irritably.

"I still don't understand why you people thought I was behind the attacks in the first place," Diana said, folding her arms.

Ron, who had swallowed much of his pride when they had first arrived to verbally apologize to Diana (after much coaxing, begging, and then yelling from Hermione), scowled bitterly. "Well, _let's see_…" he began sarcastically, but Hermione nonchalantly kicked him under the table. The hot-tempered Weasley unwillingly pressed his lips together, resigning himself to shooting Diana dark looks across the table instead. Hermione hoped Diana didn't notice, as they were all finally on semi-good terms with her.

She noticed.

"I would _never hurt Albus Dumbledore," Diana said to Ron carefully, her eyes flashing in an unusual show of emotion. "Never."_

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat; they had left out the part about the Pensieve incident, instead telling Diana that they found out about her father's trial from Ministry papers which Ron had found for them - which was partly true. Hermione felt that Diana wouldn't take too kindly to finding out the three of them had watched her in her moment of weakness.

Before Ron could reply scathingly, Hermione cleared her throat and cut in. "Well, to make matters worse, there was a bit of a mix-up with the house-elves at first," she said. Ron slouched in his seat, arms folded across his chest as he glowered at Diana. "Because house-elves have some trouble with basic English pronunciation, you see…some sounds, particularly those containing the letters k, s, or g, are very hard for them to get their tongues around - their own dialect is far more flowing than our language, and - "

"So," Harry interrupted loudly, shooting an apologetic smile at Hermione. She realized she had been carrying on a bit and, though a bit miffed, allowed Harry to continue with the story. "At first they were saying Draco, so we were a bit confused at that - Ron thought you were this prat we knew at Hogwarts – "

"Draco?" Diana said, interested. "Draco Malfoy?"

"Yeah." Harry scowled.

Diana rolled her eyes and snorted. "I met him once at Durmstrang; his loaded snob of a father brought him there to 'see the grounds'. Personally, I think he was dealing Dark devices to Karkaroff."

"Surprise, surprise," Harry said wryly. "And Malfoy was probably begging to come along."

"Yes, he was quite the slimy little git, wasn't he?" Diana agreed. "He insinuated something quite disgusting involving myself and himself. So I gave him a good, hard kick in a rather private spot." Diana smiled in satisfaction, as if remembering it with relish.

Meanwhile, a grin had begun to form on Harry's face. "Did you really?" he said slowly, looking at Diana with new admiration. Grinning lopsidedly, he nodded towards the bar. "Next drink's on me, all right?"

  
If surprised at this sudden offer, Diana did not show it; she raised one black eyebrow and looked Harry up and down appraisingly. "All right," she said noncommittally.

"Cheers!" said Harry delightedly as the two stood up and crossed over to the bar, where Madam Rosmerta and a customer were laughing at something, both very red in the face.

Ron, meanwhile, was staring after them with a shocked look on his face, his mouth slightly agape. He slowly turned back to Hermione, eyes bulging. Hermione fought the urge to snicker.

"That did _not just happen," Ron stated, pointing backwards wildly._

"Close your mouth," Hermione smirked. "You look like a fish."

Ron seemed to recover briefly enough to smile slyly. He glanced back to make sure Harry and Diana were out of earshot. "But an _attractive_ fish, right?" he winked.

Hermione snorted. "Oh, very witty, Ron," she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. He winked in response, nudging her foot with his own under the table in what he probably thought was a seductive manner.

"Oh _that's mature." Hermione rolled her eyes again and gave his foot a swift, hard kick. This did not seem to hinder Ron's efforts; instead, he only grinned wider and kept nudging her foot._

"Ron, stop it," Hermione commanded across the table. "Ron!" she warned him again, but with an innocent look on his face and a mischievous one in his eyes, Ron continued. 

_"Ron!" she exclaimed, reflexes kicking in as her leg flew up and banged on the bottom of the wooden table. Ron instantly withdrew his foot and looked faultless and mildly disapproving as Diana and Harry returned, drinks in hand, and the rest of the Three Broomsticks turned to see what the cause of commotion was._

"Hermione, _control yourself!" Ron reprimanded her loudly, trying not to grin. She shot him a glare that could kill as Harry and Diana, eyebrows raised, sat down again. Ron started looking sour once more as Diana smirked at him, taking a rather large sip of her drink. An awkward silence reigned. _

"So…you chased me, and so on, Potter chased the real me, and then we both figured it out and went after you two to warn you," Diana finally said, obviously getting bored with the silence. She suddenly leaned forward. "But I'm curious to know what happened in the dungeons in the meantime."

Hermione swallowed hard, reluctant to recount this portion of the story, no matter how long ago she'd 'gotten over it'. But she was saved from recalling those gruesome events as Professor Kathleen Willows burst through the door of the Three Broomsticks and quickly scanned the pub. Her eyes lit up as she spotted the three of them and she hurriedly ran over to their table, cheeks flushed.

"They've come!" she said happily.

"Who's come, Kathleen?" Hermione asked, daring to hope for a moment that perhaps Dumbledore had returned.

"Not _who," Professor Willows corrected her, shifting her weight from foot to foot impatiently. "The Mandrakes! Mademoiselle Leblanc from Beauxbatons promised to send some over by special owl delivery just as soon as the Mandrakes at Beauxbatons were mature enough for stewing, and Madam Pomfrey's just received them!" She said all of this extremely fast. The Herbology professor had felt it was somehow her fault that the Petrified victims had not yet awoken, even though the unfortunate Mandrake incident hadn't been her fault in the least._

"You need me to make the Restorative Draught, then?" Diana inquired.

  
Hermione pushed back her chair abruptly. "Right now?" she asked eagerly.

"If you could!" Kathleen was all smiles as Diana nodded then shrugged into her black robes, which she'd discarded on the back of her chair. Ron and Harry followed as Hermione and Professor Willows led the way out of the bar, Diana lagging somewhat behind them. She dropped into step beside Harry.

"So she throws a hysterical fit when someone kills _her_ Mandrakes," she muttered incredulously, "But she's just fine and dandy with me chopping someone else's into itty bitty pieces and then stewing them?"

Ron made a sneezing noise that sounded somewhat like a rather rude insult.

"Bless you," Diana said coolly.

***

"Paul…Roger…can you hear me? Dobby?"

"Are they awake?" Madam Pomfrey demanded for the fifteenth time, attempting to push Hermione out of the way to get a better view of her unconscious patients. Surprisingly, Hermione gently but firmly pushed the hospital matron back.

"Please, Madam Pomfrey," she said, tight-lipped. Her patience was slowly wearing thin. They'd been trying to rouse the three Petrified victims from their enchanted sleep for an extremely tense hour. Diana stood in the corner, arms folded, her part in this having been fulfilled. A nervous Professor Willows had sunk into a chair a few moments ago, and was now bobbing her foot up and down restlessly. Harry, too, had stuck around, pacing the hospital wing impatiently with Professor McGonagall for company. Hermione sat by the victims, occasionally speaking their names or gently prodding them, hoping to jerk them out of their enchanted slumber. And Ron's official duty was to subdue Madam Pomfrey.

"They're _my patients, young lady!" Madam Pomfrey said shrilly. "Besides, it's already been an hour!"_

"Take it _easy, Madam Pomfrey!" Ron tried, pulling her back. "It takes anywhere from an hour to a day for enchanted people to recover after the Mandrake Draught is given to them. Remember?"_

Hermione remembered. She still remembered being roused after being Petrified for nearly two months in second year. She remembered a white fog that eventually formed into concerned faces peering down at her, and her mouth feeling as if it had been stuffed with cotton. Then came pins and needles all over her body, and flashes of memory…an idea, the library, hurrying to find Ron and Harry, and then those terrifying yellow eyes in her handheld mirror. She wanted to ensure that these Petrified victims did not experience the same terror she had had when awakened.

"I think they're coming to!" Hermione exclaimed as Roger let out a low groan. His eyes fluttered open slowly, and he moved his rigid jaw around painstakingly, making a sickening, cracking noise. Everyone in the room, save Diana, flinched at the sound.

Roger parted his cracked lips, parched with lack of use, and only managed to moan, "What…the…hell…" before his vision cleared and he let out a hoarse shout at the sight of Diana.

"Ahhhhhhh!" he bellowed, cringing as he sat up and felt his unused muscles contract. Nevertheless he pointed at Diana frantically. "She tried to kill us!"

"Relax, Ramone," Diana said coolly. "It wasn't me; it was a psychotic ex-friend of my Death Eater father who was bent on revenge and also happened to be a shape-shifter."

Roger blinked. "Oh," he said, leaning back into his soft pillow and looking bewildered.

"My bloody head…" Paul groaned loudly as his eyes slowly opened just as Dobby abruptly bolted up in his small cot and screamed, "Nooooooooo!" then promptly fell out of the cot, tangled in his covers in a cocoon-like fashion. The house elf struggled violently against the sheets, which served only to further envelop himself within their tangle. Dobby let out a small whimper.

It took nearly two hours to untangle a frightened Dobby, relax Paul and Roger, then calm Madam Pomfrey, explain everything to Paul, Roger, and Dobby, then explain why they had not explained much of this to Professor McGonagall, and finally, calm Madam Pomfrey once again.

"So," Paul said slowly to a group of exhausted adults once everyone had settled down somewhat. Moonlight was now shining through the diamond-shaped windows of the hospital wing; the sun had vanished long ago. "Basically, Rodge and I have been unconscious for half the school year."

"Well…" Hermione hesitated. "Yes. Pretty much."

"_Brilliant!" the two boys echoed, managing weak high-fives._

Hermione rolled her eyes, though her relief at the two boys behaving normally was obvious. She actually smiled at them, and then froze as she heard a familiar voice at the door.

"Not to worry – you will have plenty of time to catch up on your lessons during the summer," the voice said cheerfully. Everyone whirled around to see none other than Albus Dumbledore standing in the doorway, leaning heavily on his cane but giving off a liveliness, a radiance, which had not been present around the old man in many months.

"Albus!" a serious of female voices chorused in delighted surprise and relief. It was a true show of his increased health that he survived the barrage of people who immediately rushed over to him, nearly knocking him over. Sheepishly, Professors Granger, Willows, McGonagall, and Madam Pomfrey stepped away from Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall shook out a handkerchief and blew her nose rather loudly.

"Great to see you again, sir," said a beaming Harry as he and Ron stepped forward to shake the headmaster's hand. Dumbledore clasped both the Aurors' hands very tightly before Diana Drago, arms folded, approached and stuck out her own hand.

"Took you long enough," she said, a genuine smile on her face, no sarcasm present in her icy eyes. "Thought you would've escaped from St. Mungo's in the night by now."

"It's wonderful to see you too, Professor." Dumbledore smiled the sort of smile a man shares with his daughter. He squeezed her white hand just before releasing it.

"Why? Where'd he go?" Roger asked in mild curiosity. But the packed hospital wing was now far too busy to notice the young boy's questions. "Hello? Anyone…?"

"Dobby is taking a vacation," Dobby moaned to himself, holding his head and sitting on the floor atop the disheveled mess which once had been his sheets.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

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And now…the review song of old that you've all been waiting for…the infamous…Dobby's Song.

***Piano plays intro as a spotlight suddenly shines on a shadowy, small figure. The figure turns around only to reveal…***

**Dobby: **_*wearing John Travolta's outfit from Saturday Night Fever*_

_First I was afraid, I was Petrified!_

_See, I thought that ol' Diana was on the bad guy's side._

_And then I spent so many nights thinkin' how I was so wrong,_

_But I stayed strong…and now I'm singing you this song!_

_'Cause now I'm back! From unconsciousness!_

_I just got tangled in my sheets, oh how embarrassing is this?_

_I should've knit some socks for Harry 'cause he got another scar,_

_I think I will! The wool store isn't very far!_

_Woah__ now I'll go! Walk out the door!_

_Just turn around now…'cause I'm off to the wool store!_

_Maybe when I come back I'll read some fanfics,_

_And I'll review! 'Cause if I didn't I'd be thick!_

_Oh no not I! I will review!_

_Yeah, as long as I know how to type I'll write you something new!_

_I've got all these fics to read, I've got all my reviews to leave,_

_And I'll review! I will review! Hey, hey!_

For a hilarious picture depicting the above review song, visit my website at: ;


	19. Reality Sets In

**Author's Notes: There was some sort of splitting of chapters in here somewhere, but I'm just not sure where anymore. Oh well, this chapter has a totally new scene in it. Exciting! Foreshadowing again, huzzah.**

***

Slowly, life began to return to normal around Hogwarts. Dumbledore's return had been met with a feast unlike anything Hogwarts had ever seen. Professor McGonagall had risen to the occasion splendidly, allowing for music, dancing, and for several parties to continue into the wee hours of the night in the common rooms. She even turned a blind eye as Paul and Roger rejoined their friends and admirers to much cheering and setting off of Filibuster's No-Heat Wet-Start Fireworks inside the Great Hall. Not a single student - Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or Slytherin - was disappointed or upset that Albus Dumbledore had returned to Hogwarts. The school felt safe again. Hogwarts felt right. And to everyone's delight, especially Max Brady's, Quidditch matches were quickly re-instated.

  
Harry was granted a temporary leave of absence from work. Ron joked wryly that it was due to the fact that he had managed to live through the Killing Curse yet again, and that he deserved some sort of bonus for that. Harry, however, insisted that he had been working far too hard of late, and that a break was in order. He decided to remain with his two friends at Hogwarts for the remainder of his holiday from work, continuing to share Ron's bedroom. He said that he enjoyed being around Ron and Hermione, even if they were busy working most weekdays. Hermione also noticed that he enjoyed being around a certain Potions Mistress. 

Professor Granger threw herself back into her work cheerfully, although she often found herself distracted by a certain red-haired Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He had a habit of showing up in the middle of her fourth-year class, when he had a spare period, to ask to borrow something trivial, or just to annoy and tease her. The students, for the most part, were oblivious to the subtle differences in the behaviours of their two teachers – most of them seemed to miss the small winks Ron gave Hermione while she was attempting to usher him out of her classroom, or the secretive smiles they shared across a hall of crowded students. They were very careful, though the moments they actually got to spend in private were few. More than once they found themselves staying up past midnight in the staff common room, waiting for the rest of the staff to retire, so that they could have a few coveted moments alone.

Hermione found herself acting differently. She smiled more often. She laughed more often. She would actually _put off_ doing work to spend time with Ron, or Harry, or both. Kathleen Willows said that she looked "brighter"; even Diana wryly commented that she was acting "perkier" than usual. Hermione supposed that it was due to a number of things: Dumbledore having returned to full health and his position as headmaster, Harry being around, the lifting of all safety precautions and curfews, the weather slowly getting warmer and the days longer, and, of course, Ron. Hermione supposed that they were in love. And she quite liked it.

  
In fact, except for one bizarre, isolated incident, life was perfect.

This strange and slightly disturbing incident occurred one night in late April, around the time that Professor Granger had begun to try to coax her students into beginning revision for the upcoming June exams. Most of them ignored her, but she supposed that she had sufficiently frightened a few of her third-years into beginning their revising. However, exam revision was the last thing on Hermione's mind as she walked through the moonlit castle, her footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. A full moon was shining brightly through the windows, and Hermione was suddenly reminded of a similar night nearly a year ago, when a sleep-deprived Professor Granger had quietly made her way to the trophy room. Hermione marveled at how far she had come since then. Ron was waiting for her in the front hall – they were going to go for a walk around the grounds, and then meet up with Harry in Hogsmeade. To think that not so many months ago, the only contact Hermione had had with either of them was through reading their names on a trophy…

She suddenly felt warm thinking of Ron, and blushed, thankful that most students had already had supper and were in their common rooms, so no one was around to see her blush like a first-year with a crush. The practical side of her scolded herself for being so immature, but the side of her that urged her to hurry downstairs continued to daydream of Ron.

A flash of images suddenly interrupted her daydreams – a moonlit corridor, an ornate box, Ron riding a broom dangerously fast…

Hermione abruptly stopped walking, and the images disappeared. She blinked rapidly, staring around the empty corridor as if expecting to see Ron abruptly fly in on a broom. But only silence in the hallway greeted her. A suddenly wary Hermione took a few steps forward and then stopped again, forehead creased in confusion. She scolded herself – she had probably just fallen into a reverie whilst thinking of Ron, and her imagination had gotten carried away with itself…

"Um…excuse me, Professor…"

Hermione was jolted back to reality by a thin, red-haired student, who was patiently waiting in front of her. Hermione blinked and discovered that she had stopped right at the top of a staircase, and that she was effectively blocking the girl's way.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, quickly stepping aside to allow the student to pass. "I'm sorry, I was…"

A few torches flared to life, activated magically by their voices, and Hermione recognized the student as Rowan Richardson. "It's all right," she replied shyly. "I just…need to get to my common room."

Hermione apologized again. Rowan was preparing to pass when Hermione suddenly remembered something. "Rowan, wait."

Rowan froze, a look of apprehension on her face.

"Do you remember what it was you had to tell me?" Hermione asked gently. "A month or so ago? That night near the hospital wing?"

Rowan hesitated. After a few moments, she opened her mouth, and then closed it. "No," she said quietly, her eyes dropping to the ground.

"Are you sure?" Hermione prodded.

  
Rowan was beginning to look slightly frightened. "Yes," she insisted. When Hermione continued to look unconvinced, she quickly added, "It…it doesn't matter any more, anyway."

Hermione was still dubious, but she gave in with a sigh. "All right, then. Have a good night, Miss Richardson."

  
A grateful Rowan turned to hurry away, but then stopped and glanced at something over Hermione's shoulder. Hearing someone pounding up the stairs below her, Hermione turned around to see Ron hurrying up the stairs, his face troubled.

"There you are!" he said quickly to Hermione. He glanced at Rowan. "Hi, Row. Do you mind if I borrow Professor Granger for a moment?" he asked in a low, urgent voice. Alarmed by his tone, Hermione searched his face anxiously.

Rowan shook her head no, and Ron gave her a quick, "Thanks a lot, Row, I'll see you in class," before grabbing Hermione's arm and dragging her towards an empty classroom.

"Ron?" Hermione whispered as she was dragged along. "Ron? What is it?"

"I'll explain inside," Ron replied gravely. Feeling a cold chill of dread run up her spine, Hermione followed Ron into the classroom and quickly shut the door behind her.

She made a muffled sound of surprise as Ron slid his arm around her waist and kissed her. Though her eyes were initially wide and confused, they slowly and involuntarily shut, and her arms slowly and involuntarily began to creep around Ron's neck.

"Wait!" Hermione protested, breaking away. Ron was grinning wildly. "What's the problem?"

"Nothing. I was just getting bored down there by myself," Ron shrugged before leaning in to kiss her again.

Hermione slapped his arm. "You're horrible," she murmured against his lips.

"Yeah, I know," Ron murmured back between kisses. Hermione leaned back against the door and cupped Ron's face in her hands as they continued to kiss.

She was abruptly reminded of the strange images that had played through her mind a few moments ago – but already the memory of the incident was fading, and it seemed silly to tell Ron about something that was probably just the product of an over-active imagination.

Hermione leaned against the door, Ron's arms around her waist, and marveled at how lucky she was.

***

April showers soon gave way to May flowers, and consequently, more and more advice was given to students from an adamant Professor Granger to begin revising for exams. But most students still ignored her. Hogwarts was in its spring glory; the rolling lawns were a carpet of rich green, the sky was continuously a bright azure, and the giant squid could be seen treading lazily across the still waters of the lake. No one wanted to study.

It was at a Quidditch match on a beautiful, unusually warm day for May that the thing Hermione had been subconsciously dreading finally came to pass. It was like a slap in the face when Harry was called away.

Hermione and Ron sat atop the bleachers surrounding the enormous Quidditch pitch, Ron cheering his heart out for Gryffindor. The pair were sitting in their old spots, where they had once screamed and shouted for Harry. Though they were teachers, and were therefore supposed to be 'unbiased', no one seemed to care that Professor Granger had a scarlet rosette pinned to her robes, and that Professor Weasley was wearing all scarlet and waving a tiny Gryffindor flag.

It was a rather hopeless cause, though, Hermione noted as a sea of scarlet leapt to their feet, watching intently as Roger Ramone dove for the Snitch. An audible sigh passed through the crowd as the winged treasure fluttered away, seeming to wink out of existence again. Gryffindor was far, far behind in points compared to the rest of the teams; without their usual Seeker, they had been slaughtered this year. Everyone knew the Quidditch Cup was going to Slytherin, especially Diana Drago.

"Smash him in the face, Keels!" the Slytherin Head hollered as she climbed over a few bleachers towards the Slytherin section. "In the face! Yes!" Diana's hair caught the slight breeze and blew into her face as she hollered in victory. Jamal Keels had elbowed a Gryffindor Chaser in the face and had snatched the Quaffle away from her. He was now speeding towards the Keeper.

If there was a time where Diana Drago was not cool, calm, and collected, it was during a Quidditch match.

"Traitor," Ron mouthed to Harry, who was walking alongside Diana. Harry grinned, said something to Diana, and then separated from her to join Ron and Hermione.

"Oh, you managed to detach yourself from her?" Ron said in mock surprise as Harry clambered over to them and sat down next to Hermione. "Well done."

Hermione smiled to herself and looked around the stands, not very interested in the supposedly heated Quidditch match that was taking place. She had never been very interested in the sport, save for when Harry had played. Since Harry was not playing today (despite quite a lot of groveling on Max Brady's behalf), she found watching the occupants of the stands somewhat more interesting.

Dumbledore was high up in the bleachers with most of the other teachers, his fingers steepled in front of him as he watched the game with casual interest. Professor McGonagall was seated next to him, attempting to keep her composure and dignity, despite a few loud outbursts on her part when one of the Gryffindor Chasers was fouled twice in the same play. A few seats down from Ron, Hermione, and Harry was Oliver Wood, wistfully watching the Gryffindor players (his own career for Puddlemere United had been cut short by an unfortunate injury), and occasionally leaping to his feet to holler instructions and suggestions to the Gryffindor players.

A little farther down, closer to the Hufflepuff section (which was mostly cheering for Gryffindor) sat the Hufflepuff Head, Professor Willows, and former Hufflepuff Professor Roberts, who had only graduated from Hogwarts himself three years ago. A few feet away from him sat Rowan Richardson with her fellow Hufflepuff students. She was wistfully staring at the young, handsome Professor Roberts with a look of unabashed adoration. Hermione smiled in amusement; Arden was somewhat of a heartthrob for most of the female students, but she had never thought that Rowan Richardson was a member of his fan club as well. She noticed that there was some colour in Rowan's usually pale face, and that the thin girl had gained back some weight in the past few weeks. She looked decidedly healthier and happier. Hermione still wasn't sure what had been wrong with the seventh-year girl, but whatever it was seemed to have been resolved.

"We're going to win this one," Ron suddenly proclaimed, interrupting Hermione's thoughts. "I know it."

Hermione briefly glanced at the scoreboard. "Ron, we're losing one hundred and twenty to thirty," she pointed out, although Ron was not listening – he and Harry had started yelling for a foul with the rest of the Gryffindor fans when Slytherin's Jamie Grey had nonchalantly smacked Gryffindor's Joseph Winehart in the head with the tail end of her broom. This, however, may have had nothing to do with the game - rumour had it that Joseph had dumped Jamie for a Hufflepuff fifth-year earlier in the week.

"Oh, don't be a spoilsport, Hermione," Harry chastised her.

Hermione shrugged. "I still don't see what's so utterly captivating about this game," she said, nonchalantly nodding at Ron, who was staring at the pitch intently. He whipped his head around to stare at her.

"Are you mad, woman?" Ron exclaimed in astonishment. "What _isn't utterly captivating about a Quidditch game? The pace, the excitement, the amazing goals and the narrow saves…"_

"You sound like a commercial," Hermione said wryly. Ron either did not hear, or he had no clue what a commercial was. He took a deep breath.

"The fresh air! The cheers of the crowd!" He edged a bit closer to her on the hard bleacher bench. "The pleasure of the company," he murmured in her ear. Hermione smiled warmly back at him, but then quickly cleared her throat and inched away as a few curious and very giggly second-years in front of them turned around and stared.

"Ah yes!" Ron continued loudly. "The whoosh of a Bludger as it narrowly misses an unsuspecting player! The cracking of skulls as two people fly right into each other! The colours! The excitement! The owls nose-diving into the stands – "

"What?" Hermione shifted in her seat to see that an owl had just cut through the Quidditch game, nearly knocking a surprised Jamal Keels off his broom in the process. Hermione suddenly realized that the owl was heading right towards the Gryffindor stands. She glanced over to Harry. He had gone rigid.

"Watch out!" someone hollered. Hermione yelped, squeezing her eyes shut as the owl zoomed towards them. There was silence in the bleachers and on the pitch. The only sound in the stadium was a feeble hoot from the owl. Hermione ventured to open an eye – the owl was now standing on Harry's knee, holding out its leg to him. Harry hastily untied a piece of parchment from the owl's leg and read it quickly. His face turned a disturbing shade of white.

"Harry?" said Hermione uncertainly.

Harry abruptly stood up and began shuffling through the stands, motioning absently for Hermione and Ron to follow him. "Excuse me," he muttered as he shuffled through the bleachers. The curious, puzzled students didn't budge. "Excuse me…pardon me…_move!_"

Exchanging glances, Hermione and Ron leapt up and hurriedly followed Harry down through the stands and onto the path leading back to the castle. Although he had motioned for them to follow, Harry seemed to have forgotten them, and was walking very rapidly away.

"Harry…Harry!" Ron called, jogging to keep up with him. "_Potter!_" he bellowed out. Harry stopped and turned around, ashen. Far away, they could hear the sounds of the Quidditch game re-commencing.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione demanded anxiously.

"I've been called back to work," Harry said shortly. He turned to Ron. "They think they've found the fifth…" He shoved the letter from the owl into Ron's hands. Ron briefly scanned it and looked up at Harry, suddenly grim.

"You're going to go - ?"

"Right now," Harry finished gloomily.

"Do you need - ?"

"No," Harry answered, his eyes briefly flickering over to Hermione. "No, you were given an assignment to stay at Hogwarts until the end of the year."

"But there's no threat here any more," Ron pointed out, though reluctantly.

"It's still your assignment," Harry said, turning to his other best friend. "Hermione…I'm so sorry, but I have to - "

"That's all right," Hermione said miserably. "I understand."

Harry managed a half-smile and quickly gave her a hug. Taking the parchment back from Ron, he drew his wand. "_Accio_ luggage," he said hastily. After a few seconds, a suitcase rounded the corner, hurriedly being packed by an invisible force as it hurtled down the hall and landed neatly in front of Harry. As the last of his clothes automatically folded, the suitcase slammed shut. Harry snatched it off the ground.

"Don't wait seven years to write, eh Hermione?" Harry said, but the dry humour in his voice sounded forced. Turning to Ron, he did some sort of complicated handshake with him.

"Good luck, mate," Ron said, clasping Harry's hand hard. "I'll see you soon."

Harry's eyes lingered on each of his two best friends. Ron stepped closer to Hermione and slipped his arm around her shoulder.

"Yeah…" Harry said absently, still watching them. "Oh," he added as an afterthought. "Tell Diana I said good bye, will you? Tell her I'll…be in touch."

"I'll tell _Diana something, all right," Ron muttered. This put the shadow of a smile on Harry's face, and then he Disapparated._

Hermione knew better than to ask what was going on. She knew that what Harry and Ron dealt with was very serious. There would always be that potential You-Know-You and the potential Death Eaters. There was evil in the world; that was just a fact of life. And that was why Harry and Ron did what they did for a living.

Hermione heard soft footsteps behind them. She didn't have to turn around to know that a certain Potions Mistress with wind-blown hair was standing there.

"Where's Potter?" Diana asked.

Neither Ron nor Hermione answered. They were busy staring at the spot where Harry had just been. Hermione wasn't sure what was going on in Ron's mind, but something horrible had just occurred to her. It was obvious, really; she didn't know why she hadn't realized it before. But spending these last few weeks with her two best friends had made them the best weeks of her life since they were all students at Hogwarts themselves, and Hermione hadn't allowed reality a chance to set in. Of course Ron wasn't going to stay at Hogwarts forever. Sooner or later he'd disappear into thin air, too. A pop, and then he'd be gone. Ron Weasley would be out of her life again. And she was helpless to stop it.

After all, he had a job to do.

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Insert angst here

  
^_~


	20. Graduation

**Author's Notes:** More description, more angst, and more foreshadowing in this chapter. Doesn't it feel good to payless?

Yay random inserting of slogans…

***

"Hey, Professor G, can I have a word?"

Hermione's head snapped up as she was jolted out of her own little world. She looked around her classroom, bewildered. It was Monday morning, a week after Harry's departure. Hermione hadn't slept since, making her extremely tired and somewhat delirious. That morning, Professor McGonagall had had to forcibly stop Hermione from buttering her goblet of pumpkin juice and drinking her toast.

At the moment, however, her entire class was watching her intently with smiles on their faces. A few of the girls were giggling. Paul White, looking as healthy and as cheeky as ever, was leaning against her desk, holding something behind his back.

"If that's a firework, trick wand, or any type of device used for squirting water at people behind your back, you have detention," Professor Granger said bluntly.

Paul sighed, and ignoring her warning, hitched a leg up onto the Arithmancy teacher's desk. "You see, Professor - "

"Get off my desk."

Paul obeyed, hopping off nonchalantly. "To be quite frank, the class is worried about you."

Hermione stared at him incredulously. Behind Paul, a few people nodded and murmured their agreements.

"You're sad that Harry Potter left," someone in the back piped up.

"_I'm sad that Harry Potter left," Flora Canter sighed heavily, pausing in the midst of applying a thick layer of lip-gloss to look away longingly._

"And the class decided to pitch in to get you a little something! You know, to cheer you up!" Paul continued brightly, removing his hand from behind his back and dropping something into Hermione's hand. The Arithmancy professor stared at it.

"_Three Bertie Botts' Every Flavoured Beans?" she said wryly, peering into the bag Paul had just handed her._

"Er, yeah," Paul replied sheepishly. "I got hungry in Charms."

"I appreciate the concern," Hermione said briskly, "but if everyone spent as much time doing their homework as they did worrying about my personal life, perhaps many of you wouldn't have failed that last test. May I remind you all that _exams are coming up?"_

Everyone groaned.

"If you haven't started revising by now, I strongly, _strongly_ suggest you begin immediately," Hermione warned. "Better late than never."

Paul seemed unfazed. "Ah yes, that reminds me - can I skip the exam in this class, seeing as I was in a state of enchanted slumber for six months?"

"No," Hermione replied dryly. "You'll make up lost time during the summer and take the exam when you return next September."

"Ah. Well, it was worth a try." Paul shrugged as he strolled back to his desk. The second he touched the chair, the bell rang for lunch. Everyone hopped up and hurried out of the classroom, shoving and jostling to get out first. Hermione sighed as she stood up and began to wipe the blackboards clean - she could have done it with her wand, but she felt that doing some things the Muggle way prevented witches and wizards from becoming lazy. Not to mention that watching the white chalk disappear after a swift stroke of Hermione's brush was oddly satisfying.

A glance over her shoulder revealed a classroom in disarray: chairs were toppled over, desks were crooked, and someone had left their heavy, royal blue textbook on their desk. Sighing, Hermione grabbed _Ancient Arithmancy: An Academic Approach_, and hurried out the door, hoping to catch the scatter-brained pupil who had left it behind in order to give it back to them, though she didn't know why she bothered – none of them seemed to be taking her revision advice to heart, anyway - 

"Oomph!" As Hermione exited the classroom, she bumped into something very solid, tall, and nice-smelling with red hair. Slowly she gazed up into the face of Ron Weasley.

"Hullo," Ron grinned, handing Hermione back the textbook, which seemed to have somehow ended up in his arms. "Going somewhere?"

Hermione couldn't stand to look at him. Every time she had this past week, it had only been accompanied by a heart-wrenching feeling.

"Knut for your thoughts?" Ron said presently. When Hermione did not respond, he shrugged and grinned. "I'll tell you what I'm thinking," he said in a low voice, glancing around the corridor to make sure no one was around.

"We can go to dinner, and then perhaps dance the night away at a classy, chic restaurant I know of around these parts," Ron said in a sophisticated voice. He abruptly broke into a cheeky smile. "Okay, so it's the Three Broomsticks, but after a few Butterbeers, and if you squint real hard, it'll sometimes look classy and chic…" He grinned and leaned down to kiss her.

"Ron, stop it," Hermione muttered, pushing away from him. She took a step backwards and folded her arms, consequently clutching the textbook to her chest.

"What? It was only a joke - " Ron frowned and his eyes clouded as Hermione looked away. "What's wrong?" he demanded as Hermione increased the distance between them.

"Do you know what today is?" Hermione asked miserably.

"Monday?" Ron tried.

"No. It's the twenty-eighth of May."

Ron blinked. "So?"

Hermione took a deep breath and looked at the floor. "Which means that the school year is over in less than two weeks. Which means that you're leaving in less than two weeks," she said very quickly.

"Oh," Ron said uncomfortably, chewing his bottom lip. "That."

Hermione laughed bitterly. "Ironic, isn't it? We had all year together, and by the time I finally realized that you're _not_ an ignorant, reckless, danger-seeking prat - "

"Thanks," Ron said sarcastically.

" - you have to leave," Hermione finished forlornly. She sniffed rather loudly. _Don't cry_, she hissed to herself. _Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't - _

Hermione felt something hot and wet slowly roll down her cheek, and promptly began to hate herself.

"Aw, Hermione, don't cry," Ron said hastily, hurrying over to comfort her. Hermione sobbed uncontrollably into Ron's shoulder, hiccuping every now and then. Between sobs she took great gasps of breath, feeling Ron rub her back comfortingly as she did so. When her shoulders had finally stopped shaking, Ron shyly kissed the top of Hermione's curly head and held her at arm's length.

"I'll visit all the time," he promised. "Auror's privileges, remember?"

"I'm not stupid, Ron," Hermione said flatly, her lips turned slightly downwards and her eyes red-rimmed. "I know the responsibilities of an Auror. You can't just Apparate wherever you want, whenever you want. You're often gone for months, years at a time. You're not even allowed to contact your friends and family sometimes." She put her hands on her hips, fighting tooth and nail against the tears which threatened to surface again.

Ron was staring at her, looking both bewildered and hurt. "You did research on Aurors, didn't you?" he asked slowly.

"I read a book," Hermione retorted defensively. She felt the tears recede. It was so much easier to be angry at Ron than to be depressed because of him. "So I suppose that means that you _are_ going to leave?"

"It's not like I have a _choice_, Hermione," Ron said slowly.

"I understand," said Hermione in a tone which clearly indicated that she did _not understand._

"Look, Hermione…" Ron's voice was strained as he stuck his hands in his pockets. "You…you don't understand, all right?"

"What's there to understand?" Hermione said coldly. And then she watched as, slowly, Ron's hands balled into fists, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes narrowed dangerously. Alarms sounded in Hermione's head, warning her that a fight was approaching. Hermione clenched her own fists; she was ready for it. 

"What's there to understand?" Ron repeated in disbelief, the volume of his voice slowly rising. "Well, it _is_ only my job! People count on me, you know!"

"Like who?" Hermione retorted harshly.

Ron stared at her. "Oh, I don't know…the Ministry of Magic, perhaps? Harry, perhaps? But they're not important, right?" he snapped sarcastically.

"Oh, what - _I'm not important now?" Hermione demanded shrilly._

Ron ignored her, now breathing hard and becoming rather red in the face. "Yes, it's not the easiest of jobs at times, but I can't just stroll up to the Minister for Magic and announce, 'Sorry, sir, can't fight evil anymore! Hermione wants me to stay at _Hogwarts!'_" he bellowed.

Those words struck a nerve. Hermione faltered; she didn't seem to have a comeback for that, and by the exhausted, post-fight look Ron was now sporting, he knew it. Hermione suddenly felt extremely selfish and immature - who was she to ask Ron to stay at Hogwarts?He wasn't just going to quit his job to be with her. She wasn't sure what had put that fanciful, idiotic idea in her head. Hermione felt extremely stupid.

Ron's shoulders slumped. "Look," he said in a tired voice. "I'll admit being an Auror's not always fun. In fact, sometimes it's downright difficult. Do you know how many times I've wished I could just settle down someplace nice and not have to run all over the bloody world, risking my life for a bunch of Muggles who don't even know wizards exist? Oh, and let's not forget the actual wizards, half of whom think that having Aurors is a waste of time and money now that Voldemort's gone." He sighed heavily and met Hermione's eyes with his own. "But I have obligations. I have responsibilities. I knew what I was getting into when I decided to become an Auror, and if I don't like that now, then tough."

He was right. And, furthermore, his words were those of a mature, even wise, adult. Feeling childish, Hermione ran a hand through her disheveled hair as the bell signaling the end of lunch rang. She hadn't realized how long their little row had lasted. "This is stupid," she said softly. "You have to leave soon, and I'll miss you, but life goes on, right?" She didn't even sound convincing to herself.

"Right," Ron murmured, taking the opportunity to hug her tightly before the students returned from lunch.

Hermione muttered something about composing herself, and headed towards the staff toilets, leaving Ron alone in the hall.

***

As Hermione turned her back and disappeared around the corner, Ron stood still and silent. Then, quite unexpectedly, he let out a frustrated yell and savagely punched the suit of armour nearest to him. The clang of his fist hitting rusty metal echoed throughout the hallway and followed Ron as he spun around and started walking back to his class.

***

"You made her _cry?"_

"Shut up," Ron Weasley muttered savagely, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace in his bedroom, where Harry Potter's head was sitting amidst emerald green flames. They licked at his glasses, occasionally fogging them up. "I feel bad enough as it is…"

"Yeah," Harry said, sounding a bit impatient. "Can we talk about my extremely important mission now?" he asked sarcastically, though his face, even amongst the flames, looked pale, and there were bags beneath his green eyes.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Oh, a false alarm is extremely important now? You got there, figured out it was a fake, and left – no harm done." Ron scowled, still pre-occupied with thoughts of Hermione to care much for Ministry matters. "What's the big deal anyway? They're just a bunch of old scrolls," he muttered.

"Just a bunch of old scrolls?!" Harry exclaimed. "Are you mad? We're damn lucky that the Ministry discovered where the first four were hidden before anyone else did…can you imagine if they were to get into the wrong hands? And we _still_ don't know where the fifth is - "

"Harry, shut up," Ron said sharply, glancing around as if he expected to see someone lurking in the shadows. "I thought we agreed that we were not to discuss the specifics…out loud."

"You just want to talk about your little Hermione dilemma," Harry pointed out wryly.

Ron looked defeated. "So what if I do? It's not like I have anyone else to talk about it with..." He suddenly snorted as a mental image of him asking Professor McGonagall for love advice popped into his head.

"That's right - the safety of Mugglekind takes second place to Ron and Hermione's ongoing love affair," Harry sighed. "All right, go on then. Talk all you want."

"Look, I know what you're doing right now is important," Ron said, now feeling guilty and quite selfish. "But if you blokes have four of them in safe-keeping, then there's really nothing to worry about, right?"

Harry shook his head. He opened his mouth as if to reply, and then closed it again. "So what's wrong with Hermione?" he asked with a small sigh.

Ron shot his partner a queer look, but gratefully accepted the invitation to talk. "I don't know…she just started acting strangely a few days ago - we haven't spoken about it since - and crying and such, because I have to leave at the end of the year. But I told her I'll visit - "

"You know that's not always possible, right?" Harry interrupted.

"Yeah, apparently she does, too. She read up on Aurors."

"How very Hermione-esque."

"So I told her I couldn't just quit my job and stay at Hogwarts forever so we can both live happily ever after." Ron's voice sounded forced. "I mean, I have a job to do, right?"

Harry was now watching Ron's face intently. Ron noticed and shifted uncomfortably. "What?" he finally demanded after a few moments of this.

"You _want to stay, don't you?" Harry said slowly._

"Don't be a bloody idiot - "

"You like teaching," Harry interrupted. "I can tell."

Ron looked away, staring hard at one of his bedroom windows. A few students were practising disarming each other on the grounds. As a particularly strong disarming spell hit one of the students, he toppled backwards, laughing madly. "So?" Ron muttered, tearing his gaze away from the window. "What do you propose I do - quit valiantly attempting to save the world every week and become a Hogwarts professor?" Ron asked sarcastically. He was met by a temporary silence on Harry's part.

"You know what, Ron?" Harry finally responded quietly. "Teaching those kids to defend themselves…knowing that what you teach them could help save their lives in the future…that's a hell of a lot more valiant than _this, mate." He glanced around the fireplace, as if indicating his real surroundings. "You don't know how lucky you are. I wish I had the skills or patience for teaching, but I don't. So I do this instead. It's __my way of trying to make things right in the world. Yours could be different. You know?"_

Ron was silent. He briefly started pacing the room, and then abruptly turned around to stare at Harry's head in the fireplace. The two Aurors exchanged a meaningful look. No words were needed; they seldom were between the two best friends.

"What about you?" Ron asked in a hoarse voice, lowering his eyes to the ground.

Harry smiled. "I can find another partner," he assured him.

Ron began pacing the room again, half-excited, half-doubtful about the decision he was teetering on making. "You're sure, then?" he said finally, ceasing his pacing.

"I just want you to be happy," Harry replied with a smile. "You're really annoying when you're not."

Ron let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding, and sunk onto his enormous, four-poster bed.

"Anyway, we had a good seven years…longer than a lot of blokes have lasted," Harry pointed out.

Ron glanced up at Harry's head. "Thanks, mate," he murmured quietly.

"Don't thank me, thank Moody. And Foran. Once you've owled them your resignations and they've accepted it, that is."

Ron swore and leaped up. "I'd forgotten about them! And seventh year graduation's in an hour!" He hastily grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, and then looked around the room in a puzzled way. "I don't…have an owl, do I?"

The green flames danced around Harry's grin. "No, Ron," he stated. "No, you don't."

"How am I gonna owl them, then?" Ron demanded frantically, running a hand through his hair. It stuck up awkwardly, making him look even more frazzled.

"Use a school owl?" Harry suggested slowly.

"Of course! Brilliant!" Ron exclaimed. He began to dash out the door, and then spun around, nearly knocking his mirror over in the process. It shrieked and jumped out of the way.

"Thanks again," Ron said sincerely. "Visit sometime, okay? When you can."

Harry smiled, but it seemed somehow forced. "'Course I will," he promised.

Ron nodded, grinning, and bolted out the door.

"You should probably talk to Dumbledore too!" Harry yelled after him.

Ron hollered a loud "Thanks!" and sped off down the hall. 

***

Harry Potter's head remained in his friend's fireplace. He hadn't told Ron everything. He hadn't told him that the one missing scroll could cause more harm than he could imagine. He hadn't told him that there had been more rumours flying around about its whereabouts. And he hadn't told him that, with the last false alarm, the Ministry – and the Aurors – were beginning to panic. Despite the promise he had made Ron, Harry knew that he wouldn't be able to visit. Not until the fifth scroll was found.

Harry groaned, thinking of all the work that awaited him in his cramped office at Headquarters. His lack of a partner had resulted in double the work for him this past year, and now with Ron resigning for good, one thing was obvious to Harry – he couldn't continue alone. He was going to need a new partner.

"Well?" Ron's mirror said irritably, interrupting Harry's thoughts. "Are you going to hang around in there all day?"

Throwing the mirror a dirty look, Harry sighed, his head vanishing with a pop.

***

Hermione sat amidst the other teachers, watching as this year's graduating class marched into the Great Hall in single file. She winced as several bright flashes illuminated the Great Hall - many parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and other relations were snapping pictures wildly, gushing and whispering amongst themselves as the group of grinning students made their way into the enormous hall. They stood in a group before the Head Table, pausing before splitting into their separate houses and taking their seats at the house tables. Today, as far as the students were concerned, there were no houses. They were all graduating together, rifts, fights, and house competition forgotten.

When the flashes of light - which almost resembled lightning and completed the effect of the clouded enchanted ceiling - had stopped, Albus Dumbledore rose from his seat, looking very dignified. He patiently waited while one Muggle parent's camera made an extremely loud whirring noise as the film rewound. All eyes turned to the sandy-haired man, who blushed furiously and tried to muffle the sound by cupping his hands around the camera.

"Another year has passed," Dumbledore began once the whirring had desisted. He spoke quietly, but his voice seemed to fill the Great Hall, reaching each and every attentive ear. "And we have gathered here today to see a new generation of young witches and wizards begin their journey into the real world."

The speech was painfully familiar to each of the teachers; it varied slightly from year to year, but there was only so much one could do creatively when it came to the annual graduation speech. A quick glance down the table, and Hermione saw that Ron's seat was still empty. An agonizing thought suddenly occurred to her - what if he had already left Hogwarts? But that was impossible; graduation took place the week before the rest of the students took their final exams. Ron wouldn't just leave before his own classes' exams, would he? And without saying goodbye? A glance to Hermione's right revealed another empty chair. Furrowing her eyebrows, Hermione was abruptly brought back to reality as Dumbledore continued his speech.

"This year," he remarked, "has been particularly difficult. Yet this group of students, along with the rest of the school, has shown extraordinary bravery, obedience, and most importantly, maturity. And for that, I thank them."

A burst of applause echoed throughout the Great Hall. Quite a few of the students blushed.

"It is custom at this time," Dumbledore continued, "for me to share some parting words of wisdom. But I feel this group, quite like another such group of students that I had the pleasure of seeing off at this time seven years ago," Dumbledore's eyes flickered over to Hermione briefly, then returned to the faces before him, "does not need them. This is one of the finest groups of students that I have ever had the great honour of serving as headmaster over. They will make wonderful additions to the wizarding community."

As applause echoed throughout the hall again, Dumbledore turned his attention to the crowd of seventh-year students. His eyes seemed to linger on each and every eager face. "And so the only thing I have to say to you all is this: I have been told there are a few job openings in the Department of Magical Security and Defense, and that Mr. Mayers, the Department Head, is accepting resumes." The headmaster's eyes twinkled as many people chuckled and then a roar of applause resounded throughout the hall once more.

"But enough talk," the headmaster said dismissively. He spread his arms wide. "Bon appetite!"

Exclamations of wonder were heard from many parents and relatives, particularly the Muggle ones, as heaps of delicious food magically appeared on every plate in the hall. Students rushed over to their house tables, where their relations had also been squeezed in. Chatter instantly filled the Great Hall as parents crooned over their sons and daughters, fixing their pointy graduation hats and fussing over their black robes, or just simply beaming proudly at their children while they shovelled food into their mouths. Hermione tore her eyes away from the happy picture and stared at her lonely potatoes. They stared back at her.

All throughout the feast, Hermione kept occasionally glancing over at Ron's empty seat, but in vain; he didn't show up during the first course, or the second, or the third. He even missed dessert. Hermione had finally resigned herself to accepting the fact that he'd either left Hogwarts, or was extremely ill and could not attend the feast. By the time the plates were magically wiped clean, she was trying to decide if she should leave the celebration to go search for him. Coming to the conclusion that she was over-reacting, Hermione sat back in her chair and watched everyone sigh contentedly as the feast concluded. A few of the students began to fidget excitedly. As Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall both rose to their feet, to hand out the diplomas as well as the awards for that year, a hush fell over the Great Hall. Quite a few curious lower year students hurried into the Great Hall to watch the ceremonies. While they were not allowed to participate in the graduation feast, all other students were permitted to watch the ceremonies, and think wistfully of the day when they, too, would graduate from Hogwarts.

"Jacob Alberta," Professor McGonagall read from the long scroll of parchment in her hands. Jacob, grinning from ear to ear, rushed up to the Head Table to receive his diploma from Dumbledore. He raised it in the air triumphantly to a few laughs, then hurried back to his spot.

"Maximilian Brady." The eccentric Gryffindor Quidditch captain, who, for the past few days, could have been seen sulking around the halls after Slytherin won the Quidditch Cup, looked considerably happier as he received his diploma. Professor Oliver Wood gave Max a thumbs-up before he sat down.

Hermione's eyes were fixated on the doors to the Great Hall throughout the ordeal, mindlessly clapping every once and a while with the rest of the teachers. The names called out went in one ear and out the other, and she was only startled back to reality as Professor Sinistra nudged her, hissing that she had to give out the Arithmancy award. Hermione stood up, delivered a short speech about the student's hard work and dedication in her class, and then handed out the award to an ecstatic Joanna Somerset. As she sat back down, Hermione suddenly perked up. The Defense Against the Dark Arts Award would be handed out next. She glanced around, but Ron still was not in sight. Dumbledore didn't miss a beat, however; he smoothly continued the presentation, handing out the award himself. Hermione prepared to tune out again, but the next announcement caught her attention.

"Before Professor Trelawney awards the Divination award," Dumbledore began slowly, "I must make an announcement. I am sad to announce that for Sybill Trelawney, our excellent Divination professor, the next school year will be her last at Hogwarts."

No one seemed very devastated by this, despite Dumbledore's moving tone. Hermione tried not to imagine what the delighted look on Ron's face would have been like had he been there.

"I would like to sincerely thank Professor Trelawney for all the hard work and dedication she has devoted to the Divination program at Hogwarts. She will be sorely missed, but we wish her luck in all her future endeavours," Dumbledore continued. He smiled at Professor Trelawney, who raised a handkerchief to her eyes and dabbed at them delicately, clutching her glittering green shawl around her shoulders with her other hand. Hermione tried not to roll her eyes.

"Professor Trelawney has chosen her successor, a very talented student who, coincidentally, is receiving the Divination award this evening." Dumbledore looked to Professor Trelawney, but she urged him to continue on himself with an emotional wave of her hand. Dumbledore turned to face the crowd once more. "This student will apprentice with Professor Trelawney next year, and will take over the Divination post at Hogwarts the following year, when Professor Trelawney leaves. It is my pleasure then, to introduce you to your new Divination professor, and to award the Divination award to…Miss Rowan Richardson."

Hermione's jaw dropped as Rowan, blushing furiously, was nudged up to the Head Table by her surprised, but cheering, classmates. She shyly accepted the award from Professor Trelawney and shook the headmaster's hand. The staff all rose to their feet and applauded, though many of them looked as shocked as Rowan's classmates. Shy, quiet, hard-working but not spectacularly bright Rowan Richardson, awarded the Divination award and a teaching job at Hogwarts? Dumbledore did not usually give out teaching posts to graduating students – Hermione had been one of the very few whom he had chosen to employ directly after graduation. As the shock wore off, Hermione sunk back into her chair, feeling gloomier than before, if possible. Who would be filling the vacant Defense Against the Dark Arts position in September?

Tuning out again, Hermione rested her chin on her hand, staring into space. Cheers and shouts fell silent on her inattentive ears as Dumbledore concluded the ceremony, congratulating the class one final time. Time seemed to slow down as the graduates jumped to their feet, hurling their black, pointy hats into the air. As the cloud of black rose to the enchanted sky, it seemed to hang there for a moment. Hermione looked down into the graduate's faces and imagined she saw her own amongst them, Ron and Harry by her side. Soon after their own graduation, they'd both left her. And now, after these last few precious weeks, Harry had left her again, with Ron soon to follow suit.

Hermione blinked; time returned to normal as the hats descended upon their owners, who were now hugging, cheering and laughing, filling the Great Hall with noise. Their relatives all stood up, joining the crowd of students as they began to trickle out of the hall. Hermione slowly stood, getting ready to leave the Great Hall and be miserable in peace.

Then a flash of bright red caught her eye amongst the sea of black. She felt a wave of relief wash over her; Ron had not left yet. Hermione watched, puzzled, as Ron pushed through the crowd of students and parents, yelling something at her. Hermione furrowed her eyebrows and stepped down from the Head Table.

"Pardon?" she shouted over the dull roar in the Great Hall.

Ron hollered something again, but his words were drowned out by the incessant, loud chattering of the students. Feeling mildly annoyed, Hermione tried to fight her way through the crowd of students, parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, siblings, and teachers to get closer to Ron. She suddenly jumped backwards as Ron tumbled towards her, pushed and jostled by several people. An enormous smile lit up his face as he spotted her. His eyes were dancing with excitement.

"I'm staying!" Ron shouted loudly, grabbing Hermione's hands. Hermione went very rigid and stared at him, her heart leaping, daring to hope.

"You're staying?!" she hollered back in disbelief, her voice shaking slightly. Neither of them took any notice of the people jarring and bumping into them.

Ron's enthusiastic nod sent an electrifying, ecstatic feeling jolting through Hermione's body. Questions rapidly surfaced, unbidden: How? Why? What about his job? Harry? But her curiosity was over-ridden by sheer joy as she let out a shriek of delight and literally threw herself at a grinning Ron. She hugged him so tightly around his neck that Ron started choking and had to quickly pull away, gasping for breath but still grinning, somehow.

"But…Ron…Harry…what…" Hermione stammered, then quite abruptly grabbed Ron and pressed her lips against his. Heedless of the fact that they were in a crowded hall filled with students and parents, not to mention their co-workers, they stood there kissing for quite some time. The pair was abruptly interrupted by a loud whistle and some whooping and hollering from a few of the students. Hermione quickly pulled away, blushing furiously.

"Woo! Way to go, Professor G!" Roger Ramone and Paul White, who had come to watch the ceremonies, called simultaneously. They shrunk away as Hermione gave them a severe look, her face still crimson.

Still standing at the Head Table, Dumbledore watched these events, Professor McGonagall standing rigidly beside him.

"Oh…oh my," the Deputy Headmistress said, clearing her throat.

Albus Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

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No review song for this chapter, unfortunately…I'm saving the best for last…^_~

  
But you still have to review!


	21. Epilogue

**Author's Notes:** Well, folks, this is it. I'll keep it short and sweet: I want to thank anyone and everyone who has read this story, in any of its incarnations. I want to thank anyone and everyone who has reviewed this story, in any of its incarnations. And I especially want to thank Night Zephyr, my absolutely supercalafragalisticexpialadocious beta reader, for helping me to take a story that was pretty good, and make it into something amazing. You rock my socks, NZ.

Do not fret – there _is_ a sequel, for those of you who did not know. It's called "Perfect World", and can be found here on ff.net, under none other than Silver Phoenix25. Gotta love that random 25 at the end of my pen name.

Thanks again to everyone – and don't forget to stay tuned at the end of this chapter for one last review song. ^_^

***

"But I don't understand!" a breathless Hermione Granger exclaimed as she walked down the corridors of Hogwarts, her fingers entwined with Ron Weasley's. Behind them, they could still hear the sounds of loud partying, though the official graduation ceremony had ended nearly two hours ago. A flustered Professor McGonagall had had to usher loud, loitering students out of the Great Hall herself so that the house-elves could begin to clean up after the feast. But that only meant that the party had been taken to other areas of the school - and a glance into an empty classroom, its door partly open, revealed that a few of the students were still quite busy partying indeed. Hermione and Ron shielded their eyes as Filibuster's Fireworks were set off in the classroom to much hollering and cheering.

"They just…let you go? Just like that?" Hermione continued in wonder. Despite the feeling of euphoria that was coursing through her body, she couldn't help but be curious.

"Just like that," Ron answered happily. "It wasn't a big deal; most chaps don't last five years, never mind seven. Frankie Fallon lasted a year as an Auror before retiring and settling into a nice, comfy job in the Department of Muggle Relations. Moody and the department head, Nick Foran, owled me back almost immediately. They both seemed happy that I was staying at Hogwarts."

"But Harry…" Hermione trailed off, not wanting to jinx anything. She had a fleeting mental picture of Ron slapping his forehead and yelling, _Oh_ yeah, Harry! _and then rushing off to withdraw his resignation. Hermione shook her head to clear it and decided that imaginative mental pictures were a direct result of giddiness._

"He was fine with it. Encouraged me, actually. And I suppose he'll find a new partner," Ron shrugged, attempting to look indifferent. But the look in his eyes betrayed the fact that he would miss his best friend and partner. Hermione squeezed his hand and gave him a small smile as they turned a corner and entered the staff common room.

After returning her smile, Ron wrinkled his forehead and looked thoughtful. "But who could he possibly - "

Hermione suddenly stopped dead in her tracks as something hit her. "…_Oh."_

"What?"

"He wouldn't…" Hermione stared into space.

"What are you talking about - ?"

"_She wouldn't…"_

"Earth to Hermione!" Ron waved his free hand energetically in front of her face. "Care to share your sudden discovery?"

"I hope she hasn't left yet," Hermione mused, chewing her lip. "I'll be right back," she suddenly said to Ron, briefly kissing him on the lips and then dashing off through the staff common room's entrance and down the hall. She skidded around a corner, down two flights of stairs, and came to the entrance to the dungeons.

Hermione stared at the cold, stone steps leading down to the dungeons. They stared back at her. Without another moment of hesitation, she hurried down the stairs and into the cold dampness of the dungeons.

Hermione turned left instead of directly into the Potions classroom, and stopped in front of a familiar door. Her breath materialized in front of her face in the frigid air of the dungeons, and Hermione briefly wondered how anyone could work down there. She pushed the door open, only to find the office's occupant rummaging through drawers in a small desk, periodically sending objects flying into a nearby trunk. The office would have been neat had it not been for the objects sailing through the air and the trunk splayed haphazardly on the floor. Its walls were bare, and apart from the desk, a bookcase stuffed neatly with old and ragged-looking books was the only piece of furniture. The office looked and felt cold, but Hermione couldn't help but think that it suited its occupant.

"You're going," Hermione said, amazed.

   
Diana Drago jumped at her words, swiftly drawing her wand. She relaxed somewhat when she saw it was only Hermione, and smiled wryly. "Potter made me an offer I couldn't refuse," she replied with a slight shrug, continuing to dig through the drawers.

Hermione couldn't stop the grin tugging at the corners of her lips. "You're just going to leave? Just like that? Before exams?"

"It's now or never," Diana replied, her voice muffled as she practically stuck her entire head inside a drawer, searching around for something. "Ah ha," she said triumphantly, emerging with a Sneakoscope. It sailed across the room and into her trunk as Diana delved into the desk once more.

"What about - ?" Hermione began.

"I've arranged it all with Dumbledore."

Hermione shook her head slowly. "_Why, _though? I thought you loved teaching…"

"I do," Diana replied simply. "But I figured that it's time for a change of pace. I was getting a bit restless, cooped up in this big, old castle. I need to get out, have some misadventures," she said with a wry grin. Something suddenly flashed in her cold eyes, and she turned serious. "I want to make up for the mistakes my father made," she said firmly.

Hermione smiled at the Potions Mistress, beginning to back out of the office. "Tell Harry I say hello," she said. "And good luck."

Diana glanced up once more, seeming to size Hermione up as her eyes briefly scanned her co-worker's face. "Thanks, Granger," Diana said shortly, before quickly returning to searching through her desk. Hermione nodded and left the room, softly closing the door behind her. She trudged up the dungeon steps, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Ron was waiting for her in the staff common room, stretched out on the sofa in front of the fire, looking puzzled. He opened his mouth to speak as Hermione approached, but before he could ask any questions Hermione sat down, placed her hands on his chest, and kissed him. Ron's confused look disappeared as he returned the kiss, slowly and softly.  Then, quite suddenly, the kiss turned from innocent to passionate, as Ron eagerly kissed her even more deeply, sparks seeming to fly between them. Hermione felt her face burn red as she suddenly found her back pressed up against the arm of the sofa, and Ron's body pressed up against hers. Her head was swimming, and a thrilling sensation was working it's way through her veins. Hermione abruptly pulled away, gasping for breath. She could see that Ron's red hair was tousled, and realized that she'd been running her fingers through it.

"What?" Ron asked, out of breath. "Is everything okay?"

"Did you quit for me, or did you quit for yourself?" Hermione whispered, frowning slightly. "I don't want you to be miserable because you stayed here because of me."

Ron smiled and lightly kissed her cheek, then trailed kisses down her neck. "I quit because I wanted to," he murmured, then brought his face level with hers. "You were just an added bonus," he said with a wink.

Hermione smiled, satisfied with that answer. Eagerly, Ron leaned towards her to continue the kiss. His lips seemed to be burning; they left a trail of warmth on her neck, her forehead, and her own lips. Ron suddenly pulled back, momentarily looking exactly like the shy teenager Hermione remembered so vividly.

"I love you," Ron blurted out huskily. Hermione felt a thrill run through her again at the three words.

"I love you, too," she responded softly, feeling her cheeks glow. She softly kissed Ron's neck and then re-arranged herself on the sofa, resting her head on his shoulder.

Hermione suddenly laughed. "I do hope everyone's gone to bed," she whispered, snuggling against Ron's warm body. "Can you imagine if Professor McGonagall walked in here and we were – "

A loud snore from Ron cut her off. Furrowing her eyebrows, Hermione sat up and stared at him.

Ron was fast asleep, his mouth hanging open. He snored loudly again.

Hermione suppressed laughter and relaxed, resting her head on Ron's shoulder again. Feeling perfectly at peace with the world, and not caring what the consequences would be should their colleagues find them in that very position the next morning, Hermione drifted into sleep.

***

_"Dungeons," Harry said. The Gryffindor common room was quiet, as if lying in silent wait for the momentous events that night would inevitably bring._

_"Should we take the cloak?" Ron asked quietly._

_"There's no point," Harry answered, shaking his head._

_"Then…then let's go," Hermione whispered. "Together."_

_The Gryffindor common room began to fade, along with its occupants. Hermione tried to reach out towards them, but they were becoming smaller and smaller. Everything became dark, and suddenly Hermione was swimming in a sea of voices and faces._

_"I've been called back to work…"_

_"Need to get out, have some misadventures…"_

_"It…it doesn't matter anymore, anyway…"_

_"They think they've found the fifth…"_

_"I love you…"_

_Then Hermione was standing in an empty corridor. It was definitely in Hogwarts; moonlight was pouring through a tall window on her left, torches lined the stone walls on her right. Her own hand, white and shaking, was reaching towards a door that she had never seen before…and a sinister voice, in her ear – _

_"Give me the scrolls…"_

"_No!"_

Hermione bolted upright, shocked and confused, and put a clammy hand to her neck. She felt as if the protest had been ripped from her throat. Her recurring nightmare had ended differently for the first time in seven years. She cautiously removed her hand from her throat and put it against her forehead, only to feel she was drenched in sweat. Hermione's pounding heart began to slow, and her breathing, though ragged, began to return to normal.

As she slowly slid back down into the comfort of her bed, Hermione went rigid. This was not her bed. And there was something…someone…lying beside her. 

Carefully, Hermione dared to glance at the warm body next to her - only to discover that it was Ron. A smile played across Hermione's lips as her eyes adjusted to the darkness of the staff common room. All that remained of the fire was glowing embers, and the sky outside was slowly lightening to a bluish-purple colour. Hermione sighed and cuddled against Ron, feeling his slow, deep breathing as he slept peacefully. She wrinkled her forehead, trying to remember why she had woken up - but memories of the dream were already slipping away from her, and the harder she tried to remember, the faster they slipped away. Shrugging slightly, she sighed contentedly and put her arms around Ron's body.

He started snoring again. Loudly.

Stifling laughter, Hermione stretched and sat up on the couch, blinking away sleep. It would be morning soon, and it would not do for a member of the staff to discover the two of them entwined on the sofa. She reached out to prod Ron awake, and then had a change of heart; even snoring loudly, he still managed to look peaceful and innocent in sleep. Hermione smiled and decided she would let him sleep – there was no harm in him spending the rest of the night there. Hermione leaned over to kiss him softly, her heart suddenly swelling. Ron was here. He was hers. And he was staying.

Feeling extremely content and unusually confident, Hermione was suddenly hit by a strange sense of daring. Biting her lip, she sounded out a word in the dark, only mouthing it. Then she heard Ron murmur her name in his sleep and reach for her, and the sense of confidence suddenly strengthened. This year, she had conquered her fears, put aside her past, and most importantly, found her two best friends again. Surely she could speak a simple name. Hermione dared to put sound to the word she was mouthing.

"Voldemort," Hermione whispered to the darkened room. She cringed, half-expecting the Dark Lord himself to burst into the room. But when nothing happened, save for a slight pause in Ron's snoring, she tried it again. "Voldemort. Voldemort. Vol-de-mort."

Hermione smiled in the dark.

**The End**

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And now, for the most disturbing review song I've ever written…a direct product of way too much sugar…the infamous…"I'm Too Sexy". Enjoy, friends. Enjoy.

**Ron: Hello, all! It's bad enough that Silver Phoenix here made a story about my thick-headed attempts to win Hermione over, but now she's making me sing against my will! Is there no justice?!**

**Silver ****Phoenix****: Sing, you! *cracks whip***

**Ron: Yeesh. *Clears throat. Voice suddenly becomes extremely low and sexy***

I'm…too sexy for my shirt,

Too sexy for my shirt,

So sexy it hurts!

*Removes maroon shirt and begins to do tai chi*

**Music: Do do dodo do…**

**Ron: I'm…too sexy for Hermione,**

Too sexy for Hermione,

Take that Charles Griney!

And I'm too sexy for Harry Potter,

Too sexy for Harry Potter!

(Yo, Harry's jealous 'cause I'm hotter.)

And I'm…too sexy for my wand,

Too sexy for my wand,

Nothing good rhymes with wand…except maybe pond…or bond…ahem.

I'm Ron Weasley, and if you review,

Then I'll do my little turn on the catwalk!

Yeah, on the catwalk, on the catwalk, yeah!

I'll shake my little tush on the catwalk…

**Hermione: *walks into Ron's room to find him parading around in front of his mirror in Spider-Man underwear* …What the hell are you doing?**

**Ron: …SHE MADE ME DO IT! *points wildly at Silver Phoenix***

**Me: Mwahahahaha! *winks and is gone***

…Yeah. Insane even for me, eh? o_0

But if you want Ron to do his little turn on the catwalk…**REVIEW!**


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